


The Art of Falling

by brandyllyn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gratuitous Top Gun Quotes, I only do happy endings, No use of y/n, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, She/her pronouns for reader, annoyances to lovers, god these idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 39,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandyllyn/pseuds/brandyllyn
Summary: He expects a quick retort. Some comment about the size of his ego and how he’s not in fact the Maker’s gift to the universe. And he’s had just enough Sour to have his follow-up ready, a flirtatious line about his ego not being the only thing big about him. If he’s lucky, he’ll see a blush ride up her cheeks and down her neck. See her flush and stammer.But she doesn’t say anything. Just bites that lower lip harder and then she looks up at him and it hits him like a fist in the gut. The wry smile has shifted, becoming wide and genuine, indulgent even. He’s seen her smile before. At a droid, or a colleague, even one of his pilots. But never at him. Never had the full force of her laughter and those eyes turned on him.--The arrival of Black Squadron to Ansion base means a few changes will need to be made. Both for newly minted Commander Dameron and for the base's Chief Mechanic.Told alternatively from Poe's POV and female reader.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Reader, Poe Dameron/You
Comments: 168
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place theoretically before Force Awakens - but is by no means canon compliant. I know just enough canon to get in trouble but not enough to get everything right so no comments about how R4 droids only come in blue or what have you, okay?
> 
> If you're only here for the 'E' chapters (I don't judge) - 11, 17, 22

Ansion was a very boring planet.

Oh sure, the trees were nice, the plains home to some pretty herbivores that were gentle enough to ride if you caught them young. The mountains were rocky and contained just enough iron to shield a military base from casual scans. And the planet itself was located in the middle rim, close enough to the Imperial strongholds for easy raids, but far enough to escape to in a crisis. A perfect refueling depot for the Resistance ships coming from the outer rim

You have been stationed here for over three years and it was fucking _boring_. The occasional fighters, all the letters of the Basic alphabet, on their way back to strongholds on Endor and Naboo and every other planet with more to say for it than Ansion. A couple of frigates in a particularly exciting month. This was an emergency stopover, nothing more. A place to go when your hyperdrive can’t get you home.

But not any longer.

Because today, the Black Squadron was coming to make Ansion its permanent base. Four X-Wing fighters, two A-Wings, a Y-Wing and even a recon ship. Eight ships to maintain and take care of along with more than one hundred souls to go with them. Not just pilots, but additional maintenance crew, navigators, officers and support staff.

Half the new crew had already arrived, ahead of the squadron itself. Shuttled over in carriers and set to work immediately. You had mixed crews, those familiar with Ansion base alongside those more familiar with this particular fleet. There had been some grumblings at first, from both sides. People used to being in control feeling 'demoted.' You took concerns to heart where appropriate and made adjustments if necessary.

"Move that droid!" You call across the hangar at an R4 unit who is directly in the open flightpath for the arriving ships. A crew rushes to turn it around, get it settled waiting. A siren starts blaring and you click the volume of your radio up a few notches, listening in on the comms traffic as the first of black squadron drops out of hyperspace.

— _Ansion base this is Black Six requesting permission to land_.—

— _Black Six permission granted, come in low and tight_.—

You watch the Y-wing come in, swerving around the edge of the mountain to avoid the sheer crosswinds. The radio continues to chatter, other ships asking and being granted their permission but your eyes are on this first ship as it glides in, following the lights and signals being sent directly into the cockpit and leading the ship to your bay. It settles slowly, a lumbering giant caught by gravity.

It’s beautiful, the engine recently re-painted and the hull showing little wear and tear. Oh, there’s plenty of blaster marks, but someone has taken the time to really work on it, make it look good. You could appreciate that. When it slows to a stop you don’t hesitate, looping the nitrous coil under your arm and immediately pushing the ladder beneath the port engine, clambering up until you’re the tallest thing in the hangar, ridding the spacecraft of the accumulated debris from its travels. Hose set, you pull out your data pad and begin running diagnostics. The rest of your team will cover the basics, but you’d heard through the commlines that this particular ship had an issue in low-gravity navigation and you-

The squawk of the radio interrupts your thoughts.

— _Ansion base this is Black Leader, requesting a flyby_.—

A flyby? Now? You look towards the open hangar door and see that two X-Wings and an A-Wing have already pulled in, each one swarmed by ground crew. There’s another X-Wing on approach, heading to the hangar door. What kind of jackass would ask for a flyby during this?

— _Negative Black Leader the pattern is full_.—

You roll your eyes and return to your work. Your bay is closest to the door, and you’re up higher than virtually anyone else so you have a perfect view of the X-Wing that comes around the northernmost edge of the mountain. You don’t have time to give warning, only watch in shock as the fighter screams past the mouth of the hangar, missing the approaching craft by what looks like inches but was probably more. The shockwave from the close pass rumbles through the bay, knocking small tools over and sending several droids reeling. Crew members begin shouting but you notice that the new people, the ones in Black Squadron, all seem to be - if not _not_ surprised- then certainly _less_ surprised.

Now your radio is _really_ squawking, the officer on duty in the tower all but yelling into his end at Black Leader.

 _Good_ , you think. _They could have killed someone._

You finish your work on the A-wing and scramble back down. As your boots hit the ground you hear Black Leader asking for permission to land. From the tone of Ansion base’s confirmation there will definitely be someone waiting for him when he gets to base. Sure enough, when the X-wing glides to a stop under the lift that will turn and ready it for its next deployment, there are already three different uniforms wearing any number of stars waiting for him.

You check your logs and in with your crew, watching the commotion from the corner of your eye. A small droid is lowered from the back, a BB unit which is unusual for an X-Wing. The cockpit is open but the pilot is taking their time. You don’t hear what is said but you can practically see steam coming off the officers. The pilot shrugs, pulling his helmet off and you can tell from where you are he’s a human man. Of course he is. Biggest egos and smallest brains in the galaxy.

"Who is that?" The question comes from behind you, and isn’t directed at you so you don’t answer - but do turn your head slightly to catch the reply.

"Poe Dameron, best pilot in the Resistance."

 _Poe Dameron_ , you snort. He even _sounds_ like an asshole. The officers have left and now he’s talking to one of the other mechanics, a new one to you, likely someone he knows. The mechanic points across the bay in your direction and you sigh, knowing what’s coming. Sure enough, here he comes striding towards you. Hair falling over his eyes and a smile you’re sure has charmed the pants off many a person in his life. His mouth opens to ask his question but you cut him off.

"Whatever you want you need to put it in the queue."

He stops short, one eyebrow lifting. "I didn’t even say what it was."

Of course he hadn’t. He was going to say something nice, complimentary, there was going to be some light banter and flirting and the he’d finally get around to saying what it was that needed doing on his _very special_ ship as though the entire squadron wasn’t _very special_ and then he’d pretend you were friends and say it was just a small thing. He wasn’t the first pilot you’d ever met and not the first squadron leader either.

With a deep out breath you drop your data pad onto a pile of parts. "It doesn’t matter. You think it’s a quick thing, something I should be able to get done in just a minute because I’m the _best_ and that’s what the _best_ does."

He tilts his head and you can see him reevaluating his strategy. "Are you _not_ the best?"

You snort and pick up a different data pad, walking towards him. You need to nip this in the bud _now_ before your entire schedule is thrown off by a reckless idiot who didn’t know how to take care of his own ship. "I _am_ , which is why I have a to-do list that’s a mile long. Put in your request, Flyboy, and I’ll slot it in based on the urgency." You slam the data pad into his chest and keep walking past him, checking on the crew at the next A-wing over.

You don’t see his eyes track you as you leave, one corner of his mouth tilting up and a considering look on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Poe wakes as he does every morning. One minute sound asleep, the next alert and ready. It was a good quality to have as a pilot, an even better one as a squad leader. He could catch his sleep anywhere, in any amount, and always be ready to be up and flying in a heartbeat. Instead of doing that this particular morning, however, he stares at the ceiling and runs one hand down his face. Thinking about this new squad, new command.

_Commander_. The title was new, felt odd on his lips, tingled against his skin. A rank neither of his parents had ever achieved. It had never occurred to him that would happen. That one day he might surpass them. His father had taken the news with a shrug and a twitch of the eyebrow. Snorting and then lecturing him about how serving in the Resistance wasn’t doing anyone any good. His mother had taken the news better - but then again she was dead and therefore didn’t have much to say about anything. He liked to think she’d be proud of him though. She’d always had a greater taste for danger, for rebellion, than his father had.

A minute later his alarm goes off, the blaring noise in his quiet quarters shrill and invasive. He rolls over, turning it off and sitting up at the edge of the bed. He was lucky, he knew. High enough ranked to get private space. Which was for the best really as he wasn’t the neatest person in the world. He finds pants, a white shirt, his boots. The weather report on the comm pad by the door tells him it’s a nice day so he forgoes his jacket, settling for wrapping his lucky scarf around his neck instead. There wouldn’t be any flying today. He’d had his pilots spend the day of and after their arrival to Ansion practicing the low maneuvers required to get onto the base. The wind sheer from the nearby cliffs made it tricky but he was sure that every pilot could make the approach now from any angle.

No, today was a day to catch up. To check on the droids. To get settled on to the base. A day for the mechanics to shake the dust of the journey off the ships and get them into tip top condition for their service here on Ansion.

He stops briefly in the canteen, BB-8 rolling along at his feet. He grabs a slice of toast and the first of what are sure to be many cups of coffee that day. The hangar is humming along nicely, both new and familiar faces working side by side as they learned the idiosyncrasies of their new charges. Walking to Black One he notices new welding on the side of the starboard engine. Ducking under the frame, he runs his fingers along the neat line of beading. So that prickly little mechanic _had_ done the repair after all. He grins when he thinks about how she’d rolled her eyes at him, insisted the work wasn’t important. Oh it must have _irked_ to have prioritized the repair. And yet, he eyes the welds again, the work that had been done was superb, barely noticeable.

Calling to BB-8, Poe ducks back under the X-wing and sees the object of his musings standing nearby, talking to another mechanic. "Hey Grease Monkey!" The epithet was a split second decision, a natural reaction to her calling him a flyboy he tells himself, but he grins nevertheless as the way her shoulders tighten and her spine stiffens. She shoots him a glare as she turns to him.

"Nice work, guess I was right huh?"

One of her eyebrows arch. "I never said it wouldn’t get done, just that you couldn’t jump the queue."

"Mmhmm," he replies. "I believe the words you’re looking for are 'Dameron you were right and the transceiver on the starboard side was _indeed_ mission critical and I’m _so sorry_ I ever doubted you, please forgive me."

He says it with a straight face which is a feat, all things considered, and one he doesn’t feel like he’s going to get nearly enough credit for. He watches her jaw drop with…. What was that? Shock? Disbelief?It doesn’t matter what it is exactly because it was the _level_ of reaction he was looking for and that’s all that really matters. He plucks the data pad out of her hands and glances over it, thumb scrolling along one side. "Now about the other fleet repairs, I want to see Black Seven up to top speed again as soon as poss-"

He tries to hide his shock when the data pad is pulled out of his hands. "I appreciate your input but _repairs_ remain the purview of the _chief mechanic_. Which is me."

He tries to take the data pad back and a small struggle ensues. "I’m the squadron leader and _I_ make the decisions for _my_ ships."

" _Your_ ships are parked in _my_ hangar."

"I _outrank_ you."

"I don’t _care_."

He stops, staring into her face and feels his irritation rise. "Look, this doesn’t need to be a fight. I just want to see the list of repairs and see if maybe we need to move some things around." He’s being reasonable. Perfectly unassailably reasonable.

It’s not his fault that she’s difficult and power-hungry. "The repairs list is available to all staff who need it, which includes you on your _own_ data pad." A yank and she’s holding it again, knuckles white. "Any comments may be submitted through the proper channels and I will consider them in due course."

He sighs running a hand through his hair. This is not going well. A squadron leader without the lead mechanic on their side was in for a world of trouble. He thinks back, trying to pinpoint the moment when things went wrong. But as far as he can tell, she had taken and instant dislike to him, getting her back up before he’d ever even had time to introduce himself.

"Come on, I can’t have made that bad of a first impression," he mutters.

"A low altitude, high speed flyby of an active hangar bay?" She says in response. "I’m not sure how you could have made a worse one."

_Oh,_ he thinks, _that_. "It was just a bit of fun."

"And the X-wing you nearly clipped?"

It’s his turn to roll his eyes, "I did no such thing. Black Two knew full and well what has happening every minute."

"Whatever Flyboy," she crosses her arms. "It was something I’d expect from a cadet, not the 'best pilot in the fleet.'"

Oh, the sarcasm was practically _dripping_ off of her now. He crosses his arms too. "Did they remove everyone’s sense of fun on this base or just yours?"

Shaking her head she stepped away from him. "Prove you’re more than a pretty face with a death wish and maybe I’ll take your suggestions for repairs seriously. Until then, my word is final."

He watches her walk away, waits until she is just at the edge of where his voice will easily carry. Then he grins, calling out "You think I’m pretty?"

The way she goes stiff. The laughter of the crew she’s taking with. How she yanks a wrench out of the pile and pointedly ignores him.

Worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days are a blur of meetings, repairs, orders and logistics. And naps. Too many naps. Too many naps and not enough actual sleep. Naps taken at your desk in the back of the hangar bay. Or curled up in the cockpit of a shuttle down for maintenance. Cat naps taken slumped in the dining hall or leaning against a crate. Never in your bed. Never a moment to relax and stretch and enjoy a feeling of rest. From the moment your head hit the pillow the blaring beep of your alarm would go and your eyes would open and no time would pass except _hours_ would have passed and yet they felt like nothing.

You were irritable and that was really problem number one.

Problems two through twenty were standing near the T-70 designated as Black Five listening to some sort of briefing. A flock of witless pilots who all thought every scratch on their pretty little spaceship was enough to interrupt your workflow and talk to you _personally_ about why it needed to be fixed _ASAP_. It didn’t matter how many times you told them that they needed to submit a report. That every mechanic on the hangar floor could show them how to do it. No, they had to come to _you_ and whine to _your_ face.

Which brought you to your biggest problem. The one that encompassed all the others. Frankly, it should really have been problem one but you’re tired and not thinking straight and wait - were tired and irritable two separate problems? Leaning back you bang your head repeatedly against the low wing of the A-Wing.

"Chief?"

" _What?_ " You snap, then regret it when you open your eyes and see the young mechanic in front of you. Rezil. New, came in with Black Squadron. Nice guy. Good with electronics. "Sorry, I mean… what?" Well that really wasn’t much better was it? You try again, "What do you need? What can I help you with?"

"Black Seven has a coolant leak on the starboard side and we can’t find the replacement."

You bang your head backwards again. Why? Why you? Out of the corner of your eye you see Rezil’s eyes widen as he follows the movement and you freeze, feeling the thick slide of liquid across your neck.

"Rezil?"

"Yes Chief?"

"Is it possible that Black Seven’s coolant leak is directly behind me?"

The Dressellian swallows hard. "No it’s on the starboard-" He stops, eyes going wide, then checks his data pad. "Um, yes?"

You tilt your gaze to the ceiling, ooze continuing to seep down your skin and beneath the neck of your jumpsuit. "All coolants were moved to the back of Bay 3. If they’re not there check the north storage warehouse." Rezil nods quickly, making notes on his data pad. "And get a new set of valve seals, these obviously need to be replaced." He nods again and turns, scurrying away.

For your part, you consider what to do next. If you move, you’ll have to get the cleanup crew out to take care of the coolant spill. Then again, using your own body to mop up the leak isn’t exactly the best idea either. The sickly sweet smell of the fluid is starting to make you gag and you look to the side to see how far away the nearest pan, barrel, anything at all is.

"Need some help, Grease Monkey?"

No, not him. Not now. Slowly you roll your head against the RZ-2, hoping that you misidentified the voice. But no, of course not. Of course it’s _him,_ the man you had successfully avoided for the better part of a month. Looking neat and tidy, shirt buttoned and pressed, hip cocked as he takes in your own disheveled state. The spreading stain of liquid at your shoulder.

"No. I have things entirely under control."

Poe lifts an eyebrow at you. "You know we have things for that right? You don’t need to use your own clothes."

"Thank you for the information." Sighing you sink deeper, leaning all of your weight against the ship. "At the moment I’m trying to decide if it’s worth getting the haz crew out or if I can just put something under it. Staying here and taking a nap is not entirely off the table as it would probably be the longest single stretch of sleep I’ve had this week." His eyebrows pull together and you continue, "In the meantime, I can’t let it hit the floor or one of your thrill-seeking, braindead pilots will slip and break their neck. And then where would we be?"

He moves closer, craning his neck to see into the ship’s interior and the source of the problem. "They’re not braindead."

You snort. "A pilot gets on his first ship and turns to his instructor. 'What are all of these buttons for?' he asks…"

"To keep your shirt closed," Poe finishes the joke for you and you cast him a look and a small smile. He reaches into the paneling over your shoulder and pulls something. "Kid says to his parent 'I want to be a pilot when I grow up!'" He looks at you and you shake your head slightly, you don’t know this one. "Kid’s mom says 'You can’t do both.""

You laugh and hear a soft thud behind you and turn your head. He’s got a rag out and is wiping coolant off his hand. "There, that should stop the leak for a bit. Long enough for you to get away anyway."

"Thanks." You turn and look, first at the ship. Then at him. Then at the soaked shoulder of your suit. You unzip it and shrug out of the suit itself, tying the arms around your waist. It’s not regulation but no one is going to say anything to you about it. The fabric itself is both fire and water resistant so that takes care of the majority of the issue. You push the strap of your tank top down as you try to wipe up the bit that fell straight down your neck. "Do you have a-?" Turning, you catch him eyeing your bare shoulder, following the motion of your hand on your skin.

"Eyes up here Flyboy. Do you have a rag?" His gaze jerks up and he hands you the one he’d been using on his hands with a cheeky grin. Idly cleaning yourself up you peer up into the ship’s paneling. He’s twisted the o-ring, closing the gap. It wasn’t a permanent fix but should hold long enough for the repair to be done.

"Not bad… for a pilot."

He grins at you, leaning one shoulder against the ship. "Our reputation as the dumb ones is really undeserved you know."

Snorting you turn away, reaching for the data pad to update the status of Black Seven. "You really think so? You’re the same people that paint racing stripes on your ships because you think it makes you go faster."

His face turns serious. "No one has ever conclusively proven they don’t."

"Are you-?" You turn back but despite his oh so serious expression his eyes are shining. Rolling your eyes you walk away. "Thank you for the quick fix but I have to get back to-"

"Chief!"

You groan. It’s Drizzt Do, second shift pilot for Black Four. This was the third time _today_ he had found you. "Do, I don’t have time-"

"It’s the throttle ma’am-" He says, catching up to you, "when I get up past about 3,000 meters it gets this sort of sticky feeling and I-"

"And you need to write this all down in a report, not come tell me about it."

His eyes dart over your shoulder and then he starts again. "But you’re right here and it seemed easier to-"

"Lieutenant Do!’ The voice cracks from behind you and the pilot in front of you pulls himself up straighter. "Procedure clearly says that maintenance requests should be submitted in writing for the Chief’s approval in due course."

You turn slowly back to Poe. He’s got one eyebrow lifted, eyes boring into the pilot.

"But Commander you said-"

"Whatever was said, your orders here are clear," Poe cuts in quickly, eyes flicking to you. "From here on out all maintenance requests will flow through the proper channels. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir!"

You hear Lieutenant Do leave but don’t pay attention. Your eyes narrow on Poe instead, taking in the slightly hunched shoulders and refusal to meet your eye. "Did you… is this _your_ fault?"

"I don’t know what you mean."

You advance on him. "Every time I turn around some fucking _pilot_ is telling me they have just one thing for me to -" you snarl and then stop. "This was revenge wasn’t it? For that first day?"

"I’d, _erm_ ," his face flexes as he searches for the word, "I’d call it more like 'payback' than revenge but if you want to split hairs about it then-"

"I haven’t slept in… All day every day someone is in my face and interrupting and I have actual work that needs doing and all because you got your panties in a bunch about a _rule_ you might have to follow?"

"Look," he raises up defensively, "it’s not my fault that you’re too much of a stick in the mud to loosen up and be flexible about one or two things."

Your hands curl into claws and you seriously consider if you could do some real damage. "I _hate_ you," you growl.

"No you don’t," his response is flippant. The words of a man who has always been loved wherever he goes. Who has charmed his way through life’s difficulties.

"I do," you assure him. "I hate you and your pilots and this whole fucking-" you trail off, sucking a breath in deep and staring off into the distance. You can see him in the corner of your eye. Watching you. He’s not grinning anymore.

"Grease- Chief?"

Shutting your eyes you swallow hard. "I am _trying_. I am doing my best in this situation with a new crew and a new squad and I am _trying._ And I know you think I deserved… whatever this was… but you don’t know what the last…" Squeezing your eyes shut you bite back the next words. You can’t say them. If you say them you’ll cry. And you’ll throw yourself off the edge of a cliff before you cry in front of him.

" _Fuck_ ," he whispers and you can hear his feet shift. "We can’t keep…" He trails off and you shake your head, shake off the emotions, and take a deep breath. You meet his eyes as he continues. "Lieutenant Do has a bad wrist. Got it after being shot down on Rigel V. That sticky feeling? It may not sound all that important to you but for him it determines whether he can fly."

You shut your eyes and look away but he continues regardless. "You have _got_ to let me have input on the repairs. There are going to be some that don’t seem urgent or critical, but for us it can literally be the difference between coming home or not."

"You’re right."

"Pardon me?"

You roll your eyes and turn to him. "You’re going to make me say it again? You’re right."

He grins, "Sorry I just like how that sounds. What am I right about?"

"Don’t push your luck," you tell him. "I’m not used to taking care of a fleet. Just one-offs on their way to wherever they’re going. It’s taken some… getting used to."

"Oh, yes, that. I am definitely right about that."

Snorting you walk past him, beckoning him to follow you back to your 'office’. It’s just a desk shoved into a corner in the back of Bay 5 but it’s where people can drop things and know you’ll find them. You pick up a part and thrust it at him. "Do you know what this is?"

He studies it for a moment. "It’s part of the X-Wing safety harness."

"Nice." Your praise earns you a quick smile from him and you turn it over in his hands, showing him the hairline fracture. "Do you see this? It’s about two flights away from giving out entirely."

"The X-Wing has triple redundancy on the harness, it’s not-"

"It does," you agree and take it back from him, crossing past him into Bay 4 and pulling the stairway over to the X-Wing settled there. You begin climbing and gesture for him to follow. "This buckle goes right here," you point out the place when he joins you, crowded at the top. "If this part breaks you still have points 1,2,4,5, and 7 at full capacity."

"Right."

"But it’s not the pilot I’m worried about." You point next to where the buckle goes. "Auxiliary fuel line. If this buckle goes, it has a 1 in 5 chance of cracking the casing here," you point, "or here."

His eyebrows draw together, "I’ve never heard of that happening before."

"That’s because it’s rare for this buckle to break in this exact way, and there’s only a 20% chance of catastrophic failure even if it does." You pull back, leaning against the ship. "Tell me Commander, would you consider this to be an urgent repair?"

He tilts his head and looks at you, then the buckle. Finally he says, "Probably not."

"Let me up the stakes," you point across the hangar. "Black One and Black Four have buckles that need replacing as well, and I only have one of these in storage right now. It’s going to take a week to get more. Who gets the part?"

Poe considers the question a while before answering. "Black Four. Both Sheridan and Koulani are due for time off so Black Three can-"

"Wrong." The look he gives you is pure exasperation and you smile. "You put it in Black One because the fracture on Black Three is not in slot 6, and Black Four is going to be down for three days while I fix the sticky throttle."

He grins at that, acknowledging the concession. "So what’s your point?"

"My point is - you know your pilots but I know this fleet. I know every bolt and fluid gauge from 1-8. I can tell you exactly what I have in storage and exactly how long it will take to get more. You know your pilots, but I know this." You tap your hand on the hard metal of the X-Wing. You sigh, "There is a reason we’re not in the same chain of command _Commander_ Dameron. I _have_ to be able to tell you no. If one of those ships falls out of the sky due to bad flying, it’s your ass on the line. But if a harness buckle breaks and floods the cockpit - taking a ship and pilot with it - that’s on _my_ head."

He rubs his hand across his jaw, looking from the ship to you and back again. "So what I’m hearing is that we need to work together."

"A difficult concept, I know," you gripe.

"Look, if the Resistance can see its way to trust me maybe you could too." He’s got a point but one you’re not willing to acknowledge so you shrug in response. He thinks for a minute and then says, "What if I made comments on the repair logs? Flag things, just between you and me, in case there’s something a bit more… personal."

Mulling the idea you shake your head, "There’s nothing I could do that wouldn’t be visible to my commanding officer. Would you-" but the quick shake of his head is enough to lay that idea to rest. You sigh, "As much as it pains me Flyboy, I think we’re just going to have to talk to each other. Regularly. Like people."

His face breaks into a wide smile, eyes flashing . "Oh come on Grease Monkey. It won’t be that bad."

"Oh," you shake your head as you move past him down the ladder, "I expect it’s going to be _much_ worse."


	4. Chapter 4

It was barely a fight at all. The three tie-fighters on the edge of the system, looking for a few straggling people to harass or take out. Poe had gotten his team off the ground, around the Ansion moons, and snuck up behind them without them being any the wiser. Certainly never letting on they had come from a base on the planet below. A skirmish, nothing more. Two tie-fighters downed, the other retreating. Everything had worked perfectly and they’d come back with barely any damage. To be his first, the first that Black Squadron would have with him at the lead - Poe couldn’t have asked for a better engagement as Commander.

There was a festive atmosphere in the dining hall that night. Someone had found a few casks of Shesharnya Sour.The stuff was basically fuel line cleaner but it also mixed with just about anything which made it perfect. Everywhere he looked, people had cups of blue, green, purple, pink… and at least one brave soul who seemed to be drinking the slightly yellowish beverage straight. Poe gave them a small salute and got a silent toast in return.

Nearest to him a radar tech was singing, a rousing song that she seemed to be making up mostly on the fly. Poe didn’t know the full lyrics but by the time the chorus came around the second time he knew enough to sing along:

> Shesharnya Shesharnya, not the best that you can buy-a  
> But that best that you can drink when you’re alone  
> If you’re ever in a rut put Shesharnya in your gut  
> And you can drink that Shesharnya all day long![1]

At the end of the song everyone but Poe cheered and drained their cups, turning to get more from the nearby cask. Poe joined in the cheering but only sipped from his, smiling and nodding at people who went past. Participating in conversation but not ready to let himself get drawn into one.

At the next set off tables, a crowd had gathered to watch a series of arm-wrestling competitions. As Poe moved closer, he saw one of the mechanics from Ansion base… Parrick? Parrin? … settle down and face off against one of his own pilots, Ranfin. Moving forward he met Ranfin’s eyes.

"You going to win this?" He asked, carefully pulling a mask of serious deliberation over his features.

"Yes sir!" The younger man replied. He was a good pilot, needed a few more years under his belt to be great. But he showed promise, had actually gotten one of the shots today. Poe cheered as loudly as anyone when the competition began, and probably louder when Ranfin won. He turned to leave, keep moving around the room, but someone threw an arm over his shoulder, turning him back.

"You next Commander?" He wasn’t sure who asked but he found himself sitting across from Ranfin. "Winner takes on Jipirr."

"Who’s Jipirr?" Poe asked and looked over Ranfin’s shoulder as three people pointed to the six foot tall Wookie waiting with crossed arms.

"Who’s Jipirr?" Ranfin asked as well but Poe quickly distracted him.

"You don’t worry about that you worry about me." Immediately the younger man’s attention was on him and Poe squared himself up, face serious. "You going to do your best?"

Ranfin nodded.

"You going to win?"

Again a nod as the pilot slipped his hand into Poe’s.

"You going to embarrass your Commander?"

Ranfin hesitated and someone shouted go. Poe made a production of fighting.Striving not to win but to hold his own. To give a show. After about 30 seconds he began to slip, cursing outlandishly and finally giving in, letting the back of his hand hit the table. The crowd cheered even louder, credits changing hands and Poe grinned when he stood up.

"Good luck with Jipirr," he said as he shook Ranfin’s hand and had the pleasure of watching the shock and horror go across the man’s face when the tall Wookies sat down in Poe’s place. Picking up his abandoned cup, Poe shouldered his way back out of the crowd, seeking quieter areas.

He passed a pair of navigators flirting as well as a security guard and mechanic giggling in a corner. This was the first time the two crews had had a chance to really let loose together and he smiled at the intermingling, the camaraderie that was developing. Born from a victory (however small) and lubricated by the alcohol, he could already tell that bad decisions were going to be made tonight.

 _Let them_ , the thought to himself, smiling as he took the refill that was proffered. They didn’t have a mountain of documents that needed filing, the endless strategizing meetings, or to prep for the flight ops briefing tomorrow. There were likely only a dozen people on the base who would need to be in top-shape the next morning and while he was one of them, he didn’t begrudge the others their night of fun.

Speaking of not being able to have any fun…

She was alone on the other side of the room, leaning back against the wall with one boot propped up behind her. She had her nose buried in a cup of something that was bubbling, and Poe found himself crossing the room before he could really think on whether it was a good idea. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, near enough to see her eyes - which meant in striking distance but he was willing to take that chance.

"Whatchya thinking about Grease Monkey?"

She must not have noticed his approach because her head whips towards him, mid-drink, and she snorts loudly and begins coughing. Just as he starts to wonder if he should offer to pat her shoulders she stops and glares at him.

"Gods, someone should put a bell on you Flyboy."

He grins and slumps further into his role as a ne-er-do-well. Not true - but it was who she had cast him as from the moment they met and he was more than happy to lean into it. "Ah yes, bells of celebration wherever I go." She rolls her eyes at him and his grin widens. Not because of the gesture - he’d seen her do that often enough - but because of the soft, wry smile that accompanies it. He steps in front of her, lifting his cup like it’s a brass bell. " _Ding dong_! Here comes Poe Dameron, _ring a ding_ , the greatest pilot - no - the greatest _man_ to ever live." She’s biting her lower lip to keep from laughing and he raises both hands to mime the imaginary crowd. " _Rah_ , Poe is so great, _ahh_."

He expects a quick retort. Some comment about the size of his ego and how he’s not in fact the Maker’s gift to the universe. And he’s had just enough Sour to have his follow-up ready, a flirtatious line about his ego not being the only thing big about him. If he’s lucky, he’ll see a blush ride up her cheeks and down her neck. See her flush and stammer.

But she doesn’t say anything. Just bites that lower lip harder and then she looks up at him and it hits him like a fist in the gut. The wry smile has shifted, becoming wide and genuine, indulgent even. He’s seen her smile before. At a droid, or a colleague, even one of his pilots. But never at _him_. Never had the full force of her laughter and those eyes turned on _him_.

He chokes. On air. Tries to cover it by taking a drink only to choke on that instead.

"You okay?"

"Mm _hmm_ ," he coughs because speech is still beyond him."I just, something just…"

Her face turns concerned and she reaches toward him, "No really, I don’t think you’re supposed to be that color."

"I’m _fine_ ," he finally forces out and she pulls her arm back, cocking one eyebrow. They stare at each other a minute before she breaks the silence.

"You came over here."

True. True. He hadn’t really had a plan in mind. Thought maybe to annoy her a little, commiserate on being unable to fully join the festivities, maybe talk about some needed repairs. But then she’d smiled at him and his brain had turned to mush.

"The uh…" he starts but he has nothing. No follow-up. He notices her for the first time, really notices her. She’s not wearing her jumpsuit and he thinks it’s probably the first time he’s seen her without it. Her hair is falling around her neck, and her deep blue shirt has one more button undone than he would have expected. Showing a tantalizing amount of skin. It’s disconcerting. When had she stopped being Chief and become this… woman?

"There’s a uh…" Wow, he was really making a good impression. _Get it together_ _Dameron_ , he coaches himself, _it’s not like you’ve never seen a woman before_.

But not _this_ woman. With her deep eyes and wide smile and that lock of hair caressing her skin.

"Poe…" his name leaves her lips and his world titled on its axis.

If someone had asked him later he’d have said he was bewitched. That was the only explanation. That bubbles from that pink drink she was holding must have drifted through the air and caused his brain to shut off because suddenly it becomes imperative that he tastes that smile for himself. Taste his name on her mouth. Press his lips to hers and run his tongue along that slightly swollen lower lip.

He moves in front of her, leans in, one forearm coming to rest on the wall beside her head. He’s close now, so close he can see the darker colors in her eyes when she tilts her head back to continue meeting his gaze. She could move if she wanted to. Take a step back from him. The smile is gone - but her lips have parted, breath coming in short pants that lift the front of her shirt and somehow that’s even better than a smile.

He lifts his free hand slowly, giving her time to move away. To duck. To stop him. He’s not even really thinking about anything in particular. Has no goal in mind. He would swear it by any god that he doesn’t. But his thumb presses against her bottom lip, right _there_ , right where her teeth had caught. And she trembles when he does it. His thumb presses to her and he can _feel it_. Can feel the soft motion vibrate through his body and Maker above it settles inside of him and he’s burning from the inside out. He leans further in and now he can smell her. Smell the soap she uses on her hair, the slight hint of oil and grease that probably sticks to all her clothes, the alcohol on her breath.

"Fuck," he whispers, pulling back slightly. "How drunk are you?"

His knees nearly buckle when she whispers her response. "Not that much."

He hesitates even then, thumb running along that lower lip. Swallowing hard, he growls "I want to kiss you." _Everywhere_ , his brain supplies but he bites that part back. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

Time seems to stop. The moment stretching into an eternity before she answers.

"I don’t."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Shesharnya / Stolichnya: https://entelodon.bandcamp.com/track/stolichnaya?fbclid=IwAR2LmFXCIn34zj2SemEhG9U2nDRAE1pwEtBK7kvano7ESSFQJ3Q9BDb9LAY


	5. Chapter 5

_KNOW._

_I don’t KNOW_.

He hadn’t let you finish stammering over the words. Pulling away abruptly, making some comment about embarrassing himself elsewhere and leaving you slumped against the wall with your breath caught in your lungs and your heartbeat pounding. Watching his retreating back as he melted into the crowd.

 _"Do you want me to kiss you?_ " he’d asked. _"I don’t know,"_ was supposed to be your response and the thing is you really _don’t_ know. An hour ago- gods, even ten _minutes_ ago you would have said 'no'. Said that he was too much charm and too much risk tied up in a too handsome package. But then that too handsome face was inches from yours and he was looking at you with those too deep eyes and suddenly none of that seemed to matter anymore.

He was across the room now, being charming to other people. Sitting astride a long bench and chatting with a very nice looking young man. _Well_ , you think, _at least he didn’t take it hard_.

 _At least he doesn’t care_.

You quash the thought immediately. It was unfair to him. You have no idea what he was thinking as he leaned into someone else and smiled that charming smile. No idea what was going through his head when he reached out and put a hand on _their_ shoulder. No idea at all.

Look, you don’t even _know_ what your answer would have been. You can’t blame him.

Really. You can’t.

Around you people are pairing off, heading off to nooks and crannies on the base. Even one throuple who you wouldn’t have expected. Since you were stationed on Ansion base there hadn’t been many coupling options. Honestly, not that many offers. Oh sure, you could get your needs met, and you had. But people always moved on - on to other bases and other deployments. Leaving you here on Ansion. It was easier to just not get involved at all.

Near to you, the radar tech has moved on to older songs.

> _Mirrorbright shines the moon, as fires die to their embers  
> _ _Those you loved are with you still—  
> _ _The moon will help you remember_

A sad song from a long-gone planet. Rumor has it that when the first Death Star had appeared in the sky over Alderaan the children had looked up and sung it. How anyone could know that was true you had no idea, but the thought was enough to turn your mood completely. It was time to put both you and this night to bed.

+++

The next morning dawned grey and cloudy, storms moving in from the west. It was a dreary day to fit a dreary mood and you drag yourself out of bed with muffled curses and grousing. At the hangar, you clutch your flask of tea and try to concentrate on the reports and questions. Thankfully, everyone else seems to write you off as hungover rather than still recovering from a night of dreaming about a certain pilot. Lurid dreams about a _naked_ pilot. Dreams in which you knew exactly what you wanted from him and took it without any-

 _No,_ you shake yourself. _No we are not doing this._ Glancing down at your data pad you give quiet thanks that this part, at least, is nearly over. Looking up at the assembled crew of mechanics you get to the final item - announcements.

"Bay 9 is on lockdown for a chemical spill and should not be used for haz waste storage until cleared." You mentally check off the box next to the item. "All fuel orders must be signed off by either myself or a lead mechanic. We had an A-Wing go out double loaded. A heavy ship is a what?" You wait while the crowd mumbles 'a dead ship' and nod as you continue. "And a reminder, all new base crew must become certified on wilderness survival in the next month. If you have any questions about that see your commanding officer or myself." Looking out over the crowd you raise an eyebrow. "Any questions?" When none are forthcoming you finish, "Dismissed."

The day passes quickly. Basic repairs and upkeep, checking in with Lieutenant Do on the repairs to his X-Wing, shifting the storage units around to make them more accessible and efficient. Basic tasks. Easily done. Enough to keep you from thinking about-

"You ready for me Grease Monkey?"

Right. _Him_.

You take a deep breath and paste a smile on your face as you turn and walk towards him. "I’m not sure anyone is ever ready for you Flyboy."

He grins as he falls into step beside you, "I’ll take that as a compliment."

"You do that."

Stopping in the center of the hangar you pull up the list of repairs and go through them one by one - highlighting the basics and letting him decide if he needs to add any commentary. As usual, he’s prepared and the work goes by quickly.

"Black Three needs a new seat," he comments as you finish off the list of minor upkeep on the craft.

"Really, what for?" You pull up the work order, making a note to see how soon a new one could be found. If one could be found at all.

"On second shift, Captain Koulani, she’s uh…" he trails off and you look up to see him blushing.

"Something wrong?"

He smiles quickly then makes a gesture with his hands that you suppose is intended to be enlightening. "She says that during her… time… she can’t… it does something or…"

"Use your words," you encourage and he grimaces.

"It has something to do with her… lady parts and she…" he finally looks up and you can’t keep a straight face anymore. You burst out laughing and he frowns and glares at you. "You know _exactly_ what I mean."

Snickering you make a suitably vague note on your list and meet his eyes, "I don’t actually, but I can ask her rather than you trying to fumble along and have to use that phrase again." He snorts and you can’t help but dig in. "Have you really spent your whole life calling them 'lady parts'?"

Oh, that was a bad idea because now he’s slipping into charming mode, lips quirked and eyes smoldering. "Oh I’ve called them many things… but none of them are appropriate for mixed company."

You choke. In another world you’re a smooth connoisseur of these things and can let the comment roll off you, maybe meet it with a quip of your own. But on this world - on this world the way his mouth forms around the phrase 'many things', the inflection of his voice - on this world you choke and look away and blush so hard you actually begin to sweat.

"Speaking of…" he begins and your eyes widen. Oh no. Not here. Not now.

"We do _not_ need to speak of that," you cut him off. "Last night was… I mean, we’d both had a couple of drinks. Sometimes things seem like a good idea at night that in the bright light of day-" you glance out the hangar door at the dim sky and grey clouds "-or the overcast light of day as the case may be- things don’t seem so good. Or reasonable."

He’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head. You were _trying_ to give him an out. You were both drinking, end of story. Not worth ever mentioning again. Obviously. You were being _nice_. Why can’t he let you be _nice_?

"I was going to say that Tech Sergeant Galle has been making suggestive noises and whistling at a few of the crew. She’s Black Squadron but on the mechanic side so I thought maybe you-"

"I’ll talk to her," you answer quickly. Oh gods, how could this get worse. Could it _get_ any worse? "Thanks, I appreciate you letting me know."

He’s still staring at you. And why not? Your brain had jumped straight from talk of lady parts to you two almost but not kissing and all things considered it was no wonder he was confused. _You_ were confused and it was your brain that had made that leap. You raise a hand and pinch the bridge of your nose. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

_Please say no. Please say no._

"No," he says and you’re so overcome with relief you leave him standing there without a backwards glance.


	6. Chapter 6

_Lady parts_.

Poe slumps behind his desk in the pilot’s ready room, arm thrown across his eyes. It was _her_ fault of course. Something about the way she went through the maintenance logs, every bit of knowledge at her fingertips. He was attracted to competency, he knew it. Was man enough to admit that he was turned on by someone smarter than him.

There’d been Pella, back with the mobile fleet. A crypto-specialist with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. And Yaris. Another pilot, but with a different squad. Possibly as good a pilot as Poe himself… and a lot of fun. And now her, running through the logs like she was reading the alphabet, correcting his notes and rattling off facts and figures. It was _sexy as hell_.

And she didn’t want him.

She couldn’t have been clearer. He’d been upfront and honest. Straightforward as his mother had taught him. "Say what you mean, mean what you say." It was an old adage but one she said to him a lot. It wasn’t exactly his best quality but he was definitely trying and that was really the point, wasn’t it?

So he’d flatly stated his intentions, tongue tied and heart pounding. And she’d said no. Fantastic. That was her right. End of story. But then she had to stand there today being all competent and-

" _Fuck_ ," he mutters out loud and leans forward, turning on the holo unit and scrolling through the charts. He was going to have to work with her, every day. Talk to her and confer with her and pretend that nothing was amiss. Now that he had thought of kissing her it was all he could think about - even knowing she wasn’t attracted to him.

_That’s not true_.

He pauses, musing over the sudden thought. It was true enough that she had _said_ she wasn’t interested. But her words hadn’t matched what her body had been telling him. There was no mistaking the shortness of breath, the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips had parted. And he’d touched her there, stroked her bottom lip and she hadn’t reacted negatively, had leaned into it. So she was likely attracted to him - but maybe not interested in _him_ specifically.

It wasn’t like he’d given her much reason to be. Hells, he couldn’t even look her in the eye and talk about something as basic and biological as…. Had he really used the phrase _lady parts_? Maker above, his mother would roll in her grave to hear him say that to anyone, let alone a grown woman. Between that and the trick with the maintenance logs - not to mention the flyby on the first day…

OK, so she didn’t like him much. That was actually mostly kind of fair.And he’d dealt with that before. It wasn’t an issue. Sometimes that’s just how things were. No harm no foul right? Just like she had said. All he needed to do was move on. Easy.

Easy enough when she wasn’t around, but when he catches movement by the door he realizes it’s going to be a lot harder when she’s actually standing in front of him looking beautiful and professional.

"Hey," she calls from the door and he beckons her over, straightening the data pad and standing up as he clicks the holo unit off. The system blinks out, leaving behind a faint after-image that quickly fades. Looking over, he notices she’s still standing at the door. "You don’t need an invitation. Despite the rumors, we don’t bite."

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t move. "No, thank you. I’d rather not. Why don’t you come out here?"

He leans one hip against the unit, arms crossed. "No, I don’t think so." She frowns and he blinks at her. "Why won’t you come in?"

Sighing, she leans against the doorframe, wrinkling her nose as she looks around. "No offense, but this room smells of cheap cologne and adrenaline."

"Oh come on," he says, "it’s not that bad."

"It definitely is."

"Well," he moves and sits with his back to the door, "I’m very busy so if you want to talk you’re going to have to get over it."

He can’t see her at the door but he can imagine her face. See the glare she gives the back of his head and he hides a small smile when he sees from the corner of his eye that she’s in the room, standing by the table.

"Was that so…" he looks at her again and sighs. "Oh for- relax will you?" She’s stiff, standing so as not to touch anything, eyes roaming around with a hint of disgust. "What do you think _happens_ in here?"

"I’ve heard stories," is all she says which, while unenlightening, definitely piques his curiosity. It occurs to him that, perhaps, the Resistance’s finest people have not been stopping by Ansion. In fact, she might have very good reason to be hesitant around pilots. He couldn’t think of one himself, but everyone leads different lives - it wasn’t impossible.

He smiles at her, "What did you need?"

A quick exhale and she hands him her data pad. "I just got the full rundown on Black One after the engagement yesterday. I’ve got some really strange readings from the altimeter and wanted to see if you knew what it was before I pull the thing for being faulty."

Poe takes the pad and glances over the figures. "No, that looks about right."

"That’s not possible."

He turns to face her fully, a bemused look settling on his face. "What isn’t?"

Taking the pad back she highlights a few of the figures, showing him. "You did a 4G inverted dive in upper atmosphere? That’s not possible, the X-Wing will stall."

"Obviously it didn’t."

"Obvious- are you _kidding me_? There is no flight ops in the world that would have recommended that maneuver. You could have- what were you _thinking_?"

"You don’t have time to think up there. If you think, you’re dead." It seemed obvious to him, both at the time and now. Flying was as much instinct as it was training. You knew your limits, knew the limits of your ship and flew where the two overlapped. Sometimes, well, sometimes you pushed the boundaries a bit too - but that was all just part of the gig.

The look on her face would be comical if it wasn’t directed at him. A blend of shock, disbelief, and a dawning realization that he might be crazy. It occurred to him that if he was trying to get her to think of him outside of the mold of "reckless no-good pilot" this probably wasn’t helping.

"Look, I’ve done it before - not quite at that speed - but I’ve done it. The Tie was on Black Four’s tail and had a weapon’s lock. I made the decision and hoped it wouldn’t backfire." He watches her reaction closely.

"That has to be the most…" she takes a deep breath, eyes closed.

"Brave?" He supplies helpfully. "Daring? Inventive?" He sees her lips twitch and can tell she’s trying to hide a smile. "Astonishing? Beautiful?" Oops, he’d gotten distracted. "Umm, what about… wonderful?"

She snorts and opens her eyes, "I was thinking reckless. Dangerous. Stupid."

"There you go calling me stupid again." He stands up and she doesn’t move away. He’d been expecting her to take a step back at least, but now she had her head tilted up and he can’t help but think of how similar this is to last night. Complete with his overwhelming urge to kiss her. He clears his throat instead, taking a step back himself.

"To be fair," she offers, "I don’t think I’ve ever said that _you_ were stupid. Just that you _act_ stupid. Sometimes."

"That seems like a very slim distinction," he narrows his eyes at her.

She nods, mouth pressed firmly closed, a look of earnest agreement on her face. It’s frankly adorable and he just stares at her. She doesn’t seem to notice as she tucks her data pad into one of her jumpsuit’s pockets. "Please at least _try_ to fly my ship within parameters? Would you?"

He shrugs, nonchalantly, "I can’t make any promises."

Behind her, he can see second shift filing in for their briefing. Turning, she sees them too and gives him a nod before slipping out. He doesn’t even get to tease her for calling it 'her' ship.

He files it away for next time.


	7. Chapter 7

The hangar sirens blare, startling you out of the array of electronics you were neck deep in. A half-second later your radio starts squawking.

- _All hands all hands, pilots to your ships. Prepare for launch-_

You quickly disconnect your diagnostics, slamming the cover panel shut. "R4 you got this?" The droid below you beeps, whirling to reconnect the circuits you had pulled to do the repairs. It would be fine for flight, but you’d need to-

"Captain Sheridan," you catch the woman on her way to the X-Wing. She looks at you, zipping her flight suit and checking the hoses. "Port side velocity array is still having some issues, give it a kick if it goes out. It works - just doesn’t want to show it." She nods and you hold the stairs steady as she climbs into the fighter. Moving back, you quickly check the area.

"Bay Three clear!"

The message is relayed to the tower and the cockpit. You can hear Black Two being cleared for launch. You see Black Leader - you can’t think of him as Poe right now - pulling on his gloves and taking his helmet from another tech. He’s alternating checking his gear and talking on the radio, gathering intel from Command.

On the tower channel you hear Black Three get cleared and take a knee, covering your ears with your hands. The magnetic launch track moves the ship into position and it fires up, clearing the hangar at speed.

It’s over in less than four minutes. All X-Wings and one A-Wing launched. Pilots standing by in the remaining ships. You take a deep breath. "Alright everyone, clear the hangar of non-essentials, get fuel lines and cannon lines ready. Tech Team 9 I want you on major repairs in Bays 9 & 10." It was all by rote, none of this new information, ingrained in the entire maintenance and tech team from the moment they came on the crew. But in the moment, people need leadership - even if they know exactly what they’re supposed to be doing.

You don’t have ears on the engagement channel, can only hear the tower traffic. Long minutes pass… this was always the worst part. Waiting on the ground, no idea what was happening up there. How many enemy ships? Was it a false alarm? Was the base going to be under attack?

"Sergeant Hollin are the blast doors ready?"

"Yes ma’am," comes the reply, "and the debris shield is online."

You can see that one, the pale blue light ringing the hangar bay door. It would keep any minor objects and blaster fire from entering the hangar - but the Resistance ships would still be able to pass through.

More minutes pass. The first line of mechanics swap out with the next, the new group standing alert and ready. This would continue until all ships were home, rotating crews staying on for thirty minutes, then off for ninety, waiting to receive a ship. There was only so long a person could stay on high alert and this system kept people fresh and ready to go.

Your place is almost dead center of the hangar, in a gap left by the overhead tracks. Ships coming in would pass within meters of you but none ever actually crossed into the area. From here you could see all ten bays, be available to answer questions, and visually assess any craft coming in and start relaying orders before they ever got to their berth.

"Bay 4 standby," you call out. The droid next to you relays the message along other comm lines.You see the X-Wing coming, trailing smoke off the starboard engine. "Belay that order, reroute to Bay 9. Tech Team 4do you copy?" An affirmative trill from the droid next to you and you see the ship glide in and go into the designated bay. Your best mechanics would be there to get the engine patched while another team refueled both the engine and blaster cells. The ship is fully outfitted and on its way out again when you see the next.

"Bay 7 standby."

And so it goes. Black Four returns to base, this time with a second engine out. Procedure says the ship can fly with two engines out but when it arrives you see the cockpit open and the pilot removing his helmet. He’s been grounded. Which is actually a good sign.

Sure enough, over the next hour all ships come back in varying stages of needing repairs. Black Two is actively on fire which causes a brief stir but it’s quickly put out. Squinting, you can see three X-wings in the distance, two flanking one that is trailing smoke.

- _Tower this is Black Leader, requesting permission to land.-_

_-Black Leader you are cleared to land. Good to have you home.-_

When the X-Wing transfers to the landing track you grimace. That does not look good. One of the wings is bent at an angle, unable to close. There are long black marks through the paint, exposing the chromium underneath. It looks like some great monster ran its claws along the side. You guide the other two craft in, both none the worse for wear, and set the remaining teams to tasks. In the corner of your eye you see Poe lifting himself out of his cockpit, looking tired but alive.

Running your eyes over the burnt and twisted engine metal you glare at him. "I thought we talked about not destroying any of my ships, Flyboy."

He looks over at you but doesn’t crack a smile. "I got her back in one piece, what more do you want from me?"

"Maybe bring her back in one _working_ piece?"

He takes the stairs down slowly, "Look, we’re back, we all made it out alive, can’t you just be happy for once and let us enjoy the moment without needing to be such a-"

"Such a what?" You meet him at the bottom.

"A killjoy." He finishes.

You grit your teeth. "Sorry if I was concerned about the safety and status of the squadron."

"You’re not though," he snaps, "you’re concerned about the ships, not the squad." His boots hit the ground and he pulls himself up to his full height. "There were no casualties, thanks for asking."

You hadn’t thought to ask, had assumed everyone was fine. But for him to-"You’re replaceable, the ships aren’t."

The moment the words leave your mouth you wish you could call them back. He flinches from you, his hand tightening around the straps of his helmet until the knuckles turn white. It’s a moment - gone before you can fully realize it’s there.

You wait, hoping for a flippant remark, a quip, _something_ to let you know that he didn’t take it to heart. Instead, you hear him mutter "Yeah," and before you can say anything he’s gone - long legs taking him into the waiting group of pilots ready to celebrate their safe return.

+++

It’s the middle of the night - closer to dawn than anything.

The room is dark, lit by small bits of electronics and projects scattered about. You stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep. You’ve been lying here for hours, mulling over what happened in the hangar.

You’d fucked up.

That much was obvious. Whatever attempt at banter you’d been going for had fallen flat. You’d misjudged the mood and it had backfired. You would just have to figure out some way to make it right. Maybe prioritize the repairs on Black One.

You groan and roll over. Repairs to Black One would be prioritized no matter what since it was the Squad Leader’s ship. Also, "I’m sorry I said you were replaceable, here I fixed the ship I said was more important than your life" didn’t seem like the way to go. The worst part was… you knew he wouldn’t say anything. He’s let it slide, go back to being… well… _him_. But you’d seen the look on his face, seen how hard the words had hit.

" _Dammit_ ," you mutter and sit up. If you were going to be awake you might as well be working. You throw the covers off and pull on your jumpsuit, tying the arms around your waist and not even bothering to lace your boots as you yank them on your bare feet. All you were going to do was paperwork, you didn’t need to be fully outfitted.

The hangar is quiet of course, one crew of night shift working in Bay 9. You don’t even need to go near that end of the room. Your desk is just to the right and you cross to it and then nearly trip over a small droid rolling at your feet. Looking down, you recognize BB-8, and it bobs at you then rolls away and stops.

You follow it and bend down, tapping gently on the metal shielding one of the droid’s rotational sensors. "Hullo there little one, what are you doing out? Where’s your pilot?"

The droid trills a little tune and rolls away, stopping to make sure you’re following. It leads you further into the hangar, near the far end and the ship you had been trying not to think about. It turns to you one more time then moves behind a stack of crates. You duck around them, under the damaged wing of the fighter, and see what has the droid so concerned. From this angle you can just make out the top of Poe Dameron’s head, the loose waves and curls recognizable from anywhere. He’s slumped on the floor, leaning against a box with one leg stretched out. From any other place in the hangar he’d be invisible.

He doesn’t notice you and you think about backing away. This is a private moment, one he obviously needed or he would be in his quarters sound asleep like you were supposed to be. You actually take a step back before chastising yourself for your cowardice. The little droid is quiet as it stops halfway between the two of you, titling it’s body and seeming to look from one to the other. Gathering your courage you cross the space, giving the droid a tap as you go by. You don’t say anything as you approach, just lean on the crate across from him and wait.


	8. Chapter 8

The blue mappa is humming through his veins and Poe leans his head back and let’s it. Unable to concentrate, and unwilling to sleep he’d grabbed the alcohol from the back of his storage locker and come down to the hangar instead.

Today had been close. Too close. Captain Ahearn nearly hadn’t come back. He’d lost comrades before, other pilots, but this would have been the first time someone under his _direct_ command would have died. He hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t realized what a shock it would be to his system. He’d grounded the Captain, sent the man back to base over protest. Had it been the right thing? Or had he been so scared to lose a pilot he’d made a mistake - risked them all?

He’d been tumbling the problem in his head over and over all night. The living toll of the war. He knew the odds, knew the rate at which pilots died in this war. Knew, on an intellectual level, that the day was going to come, sooner or later, when someone under his command wouldn’t come back. The day he’d have to contact their family and let them know.

Sighing, he raises the blue to his lips, that day wasn’t today. Today they had all come home. He sees movement from the corner of his eye, BB-8, but before he can reassure them he sees boots as well. He doesn’t bother looking up. There’s only one mechanic who would approach him while he was in this state.

She’s quiet at first. Just leans across from him without saying a word. The minutes tick past and he considers if he should offer her something to drink. Shrugging he takes a swig himself. If she wanted some she’d have said something.

"I came out here-" her voice is loud, cutting through the near silence. Both of them jerk at the noise. She pauses, her foot taps, he can see that she’s tense and he looks up to her face.

She looks tired. Strained. Like the same thoughts that had been keeping him awake were burrowing into her brain as well. She’s staring out into the hangar, staring at Black One and the engine that had nearly not brought him back. From this angle he can see the arch of her neck, the line of smooth skin exposed.

"Look I wanted to say…" She trails off and he doesn’t bother looking up at her. Her boots aren’t laced, he notices. He watches as she taps her fingers against the side of the crate and he notes how short her nails are. The slightest bit of black at the nail beds. It was probably impossible to keep all the grease and oil off. He wonders if he’d be able to taste it. If he licked the pad of her finger and pulled it into his mouth would he be able to…

He shakes his head sharply. Those were thoughts for another night. For when he was alone. Not now. Not with her here within touching distance. She was talking and he tries to focus, he really does. But there’s no real point to it. She had already said what she meant to -

"I’m sorry. About earlier. The whole…" She trails off and Poe finally lifts his eyes above her hands. Those calloused mechanics hands that would feel _so good_ against his skin and meets her eyes. She takes a deep breath.

"You’re the best pilot I’ve ever seen. And you take too many risks. And what I said earlier… I was worried about you and I snapped and said something I didn’t mean. You’re not replaceable. In fact…"

What is _happening_. Poe glances at the skein of blue near his hip. Was he really _that_ drunk? So drunk that his mind could conjure her here. So drunk that he’d imagine that she was standing there with a bare strip of midriff peeking out between the loose jumpsuit and a thin white tank that made his fingers itch to slip beneath the fabric and trace… But then again, if he was imagining this then surely she would have been naked by now, on the floor with him, whispering all the dirty things that she said every night in his dreams when he had her beneath him and…

Wait, had she really…. Had he heard her right? She was praising him, telling him… telling him she _worried_ about him? That she _cared_?

The silence must have stretched out too long because she moves, begins to walk away, begins to leave him there in his confusion and these _feelings_ and before he can think better of it he reaches out and grabs her calf. The boots are untied. He’d noticed that before. The jumpsuit is piled and not neatly tucked in. And so when his hand makes the connection it is not the rough nomex that he expects, but also bare skin sliding against two of his fingers. If he’d thought he was drunk before then surely now he was stone cold sober because her skin is _soft_. Softer than he could ever have imagined even in his best dreams and he can’t help the movement, can’t help but wrap his hand a little further around, a little tighter.

He could topple her over from this angle. One push, one tug and she’d be in his lap, her hands in his hair. She’d gasp at first, mouth open to scold him or fling some sarcastic comment. But that’s all he would need to slip his tongue inside, feel those soft lips against his, feel her sigh and moan and melt into his arms. His hand, his hand could slip onto that bare flesh of her stomach, push the fabric up… his eyes trace the path his hands want to take and he can clearly see the soft weight of her breasts pressing at her top. The nipples hard little buds. His mouth goes dry. It would take no time at all to lift the shirt upwards, cup his hand around…

"Flyboy?"

The soft question cuts through his fantasy like a blaster bolt and he startles, eyes flying upwards to see she’s looking down at him. Lips slightly parted and brows furrowed in confusion as she glances between his face and the hand still holding her ankle.

 _I don’t want you_.

He can hear her voice clearly. That day when he had tried, when he had made his move and been rejected. He yanks his hand back, "Sorry. Thank you. I…" _want you, need you, please,_ "appreciate the apology."

She nods at him, brows still furrowed, the confusion on her face even deeper if that’s possible. But still, she leaves him, walks away from him and he lets her. Doesn’t hold on to that soft skin. Later he will take himself in his hand and imagine a different ending. An ending where she wanted him as much as he wanted her and neither of them was afraid to say it.

But right now, right now he drops his chin to his chest, closes his eyes, and tries to quiet the demons inside of him.

+++

In the morning the demons have moved to just behind his eyes, pounding his head in the bright light of the day. He’d drug himself back to his quarters at some point, but fallen into bed fully clothed. This morning he was in his shirtsleeves, under his X-Wing and working with one of the base crew.

"Sorry, what was your name again?"

The Dresellian nods his head, "It’s Rezil sir."

"Don’t worry about calling me sir right now, just pass me the carbon chisel."

He could go to the medbay of course. They’d give him some fluids and a bit of a pick me up without too much commotion. As long as he didn’t make a habit of it. But the headache seemed like a fair price to pay for his idiocy the night before. Not just the drinking, but drinking in public, in the hangar where he could have caused an actual problem.

It wasn’t like him and he curses as he scrapes charring from the side of the nacelle. He pulls a hex driver from his belt and removes the panel, scowling at the interior. This was not going to be an easy fix.

"Rezil do you have an arduino pull?"

"He’s on the other side of the ship."

Poe freezes. The voice is hers. One he’d been trying to both remember and forget about all morning. Ducking down he looks and sure enough she’s standing about three meters away. Data pad clutched in her hands as per usual.

She looks worried, a little hesitant. One eyebrow is up in a silent question and she continues to stand a few feet away - as if unsure of her welcome. Bits and pieces of the night before come back to him. She’d been here with him. Had said some things… she’d apologized. He remembers that much. She’s also said something else, something that seemed very important at the time but for the life of him he couldn’t recall what it was. His fingers twitch. What he _could_ recall was the feel of her skin. His fantasies and reality are blurred in his head but he’s reasonably certain that much is a real memory.

She’s still waiting and he ducks under the wing, wiping his hands on a rag as he approaches her, looking around for Rezil. "What’s he doing over there?"

"Helping someone who actually needs it," she responds. She glances over his shoulder and then back at him. "I’m told you’ve been busy."

"Well I do know a few things about my ship."

She flinches and his brows draw together, puzzled. "From what I can tell you know than a few things. I’m impressed." Her smile is wide but her eyes won’t meet his.

"I’m not just a pretty face," he grins, hoping to break the mood.

"I never thought you were just-" she stops and sighs. "Gods, why is this so awkward?"

"I don’t know, but to be honest I’m not one hundred percent sure what you’re referring to either." She shoots him an exasperated look and he counts that as a win. "I was just minding my own business, fixing my ship, and then you interrupted me-"

"Excuse me?" Both eyebrows up now. "I did no such thing. _I_ was standing here minding my own business. You came up to me."

He thinks about that for a moment then narrows his eyes, "Why were you standing here?"

"To talk to you."

"Ha!" He points, "I knew it. You were thinking about interrupting, I just came over here first. Interrupted your interrupting." Her head tilts and he gives her a smug half smile. It was unassailable logic.

"This is going-" she pauses, "Actually, to be honest, this is going almost exactly how I expected it to." She takes a deep breath. "Commander I wanted to-"

"Poe," he interrupts. "Or Dameron. Or even flyboy. But please don’t call me Commander. Not when it’s just the two of us."

She mutters something he doesn’t catch before continuing, "I wanted to apologize again for -"

"No apology needed," he breaks in, "you apologized last night. And I appreciated it a lot. There’s no need to belabor it."

"Will you please stop interrupting me?" His jaw snaps shut and he mimes locking it closed, carefully placing the imaginary key into her palm. Her hands are warm, a mix of smooth skin and rough calluses. She looks down bemusedly, then back at him. "Oh this is too much power for me. Controlling whether or not Poe Dameron can talk?" She makes a low, pleasurable noise in her throat and he has to shift his stance slightly. "Absolute power corrupts you know."

He tries to encourage her to talk with his face, eyes wide and stretching his neck towards her. Her lips quirk upwards and she releases a short breath through her nose. "In spite of my common sense, I enjoy our verbal sparring. And I am truly sorry for saying something cruel. There is a line and I crossed it."

She watches him expectantly and he holds his hand out. She looks at it then rolls her eyes, placing the imaginary key back in it. Once free he puts a hand on her shoulder, "And I meant what I said, I appreciate the apology last night and don’t need another one." She nods and he continues, "So you enjoy my company do you?"

"I absolutely did _not_ say that."

"I think that’s _exactly_ what you said," he grins and walks past her, dropping his tools on the cart by the side of the bay. " _Poe you are so handsome and I so enjoy spending time with you_."

The look she gives him is pure disbelief, "Is that what you think I sound like?"

"Ha," he turns to her, "I see you’re admitting to the rest of it."

"I admit to nothing."

She’s more relaxed, a wide smile across her face, and he breathes an internal sigh of relief. " _Oh Poe, if only you knew how brave and smart and…_ " he runs out of adjectives and frowns.

"Irritating?" She offers.

"No, that’s not it," he can see one of the Lieutenants heading for him. A comms officer who wanted clearance to join the flight crew. Poe had agreed to take him out today for some tests, see where his skill levels were. "I think it was something like 'amazing' but I can’t quite put my finger on it."

She harrumphs at him and turns away. Smiling, he crosses the hangar and throws an arm over the shoulder of the Lieutenant. "You ready for this?"

"Yes sir!"

"Then let’s get suited up - I’ll meet you back there in twenty."

He turns to go then remembers. "Hey Grease Monkey!" He shouts across the hangar. He waits until she turns around then calls out, "Wonderful!" He leaves her laughing there, his own mood markedly improved.


	9. Chapter 9

"Son of a _bantha_." The curse flies from your lips as you jerk your hand back, sparks skidding up the skin of your arm and singing the short hairs. Below you, the T9 droid rocks back and forth, trilling a concerned question up at you. "I’m fine," you call back, "Just got the fuses switched and…"

It was not a normal mistake. Any cadet fresh on the job knew how to put in fuses on a spacecraft. The damn things were basically foolproof. But today your mind was elsewhere, today you were deep in the bowels of an X-Wing with the butt of a soldering iron clenched between your teeth and your mind miles away.

He hadn’t come back.

It’d been more than 24 hours, a full day by any measure. The kid he’d taken out on the lower atmosphere craft had been picked up by a patrol, flares and parachute making him an easy spot for the lookouts. He’d told them about mechanical difficulties, Poe forcing the kid to eject while he tried to bring the craft down safely elsewhere. He didn’t know what happened after that.

No one had found the ship either. It wasn’t one of yours. The planet side fleet were maintained by a different team in a different hangar. You’d already been over there, checked the maintenance logs. They hadn’t appreciated the implications - that they had let a bad ship go out. In fact, you’d probably made more than a few enemies with your pointed questions and comments.

But something _had_ gone wrong. The kid was clear it was mechanical error, not pilot. You’d have discounted pilot error without strong proof regardless. Something had gone wrong and both he and the ship had just… disappeared.

Which wasn’t possible of course. Patrol groups were still looking for him, and Captain L’ulo had the squadron pilots doing rounds in the X-Wings. To cover more ground, she’d said. And because they knew how a pilot like him would think. You didn’t follow her reasoning, but then again - he wasn’t your commanding officer lost out there. He was just your….

Nothing.

He was your nothing. You had no claims on him whatsoever beyond casual bickering at work and one almost kiss. You weren’t even sure if you could reasonably be called friends. Just workplace colleagues who sort of liked each other. Maybe.

Another wrong placement, another shower of sparks and you hit your head as you jerk yourself away from the panel. " _Motherfu-_ "

"Chief?"

" _What?_ "

The tech jumps back and you sigh. If you kept this up you were going to get a reputation. "Sorry, you startled me. What’s up?"

"Commander Nadir needs an update on fleet readiness."

"Tell him I’ll get it to him within the hour."

"And Captain L’ulo wants to talk to you about the repairs."

"Tell her to put in a -" You stop, thinking for a moment. "Repairs to her ship or squadron repairs?"

"Squadron repairs."

It hits you like a brick and you have to take a deep breath. Of course she would. She’s the acting Commander until they can find someone to replace Poe. Or she gets promoted. That slot can’t stay empty, the squadron needs a leader. "See if she’s got time this afternoon."

The tech nods and hurries away, writing as he runs. You close up the panel of the X-Wing and hop to the ground. Sending the T9 unit on to its next task, you stop to breathe for a moment. You had to keep tasks going, had to keep working. If you stop you’ll think about it, about _him_ and then you’d be useless. Drawing a deep breath you start to walk away but something hits the back of your calf, followed by a set of beeps and trills.

Looking down you see BB-8, a grease mark down one side of its otherwise polished frame. You squat down, using your rag to polish the droid. "What’s up little one?"

The droids whirs and spins in place.

"Stay still, what would Poe say if he could see you like this?"

The droid stops moving but lets out a morose whistle.

"I know, but I don’t think it means they’ve given up on him. Just that… there’s only so much we can do you know?" Giving it one last swipe you stand up.

The droid flashes a red light at you then rolls forward, bumping your shin.

"Hey, I can’t just drop everything and go looking for him. I’ve got to make sure his ship is up to scratch when he gets back. So he can go flying with _you_."

The droid sounds pleased by this, but continues to rotate in place, anxiously trilling.

"Come on," you beckon it, "you can stay with me. I promise to pass on any news the moment it comes in if you walk me through the mess of repairs that have already been done to his T-70.Deal?"

The droid beeps an affirmative and follows you over to Bay 1.You drop the diagnostic cable down and connect it. "Alright little buddy, let’s see what your dad did to this thing."

Pulling a panel down, you start to poke around, calling questions over to BB-8. The droid seems happy to respond, happy to be helpful. Also, happy to be smug as you become more and more exasperated with what you’re finding.

"He replaced the JNV conduit with a _what_?"

The droid whistles at you and you point at it with the hyperion driver. "It absolutely does _not_ make the ship go faster. That would break the laws of physics. I’m surprised this thing hasn’t dropped out of the sky." You go to pull the offending cabling but the droid makes an anxious noise, beeping at you forcefully.

"It’s not going to-" you look over at it. You know droid’s don’t have feelings, it’s not part of their programming. But they _can_ be programmed to prioritize which means they can, in a way, be programmed to care. You give a short laugh and crouch next to it. "I promise not to fix anything not actively broken until he gets back." BB-8 seems pleased and you give it an affectionate tap on a sensor.

+++

The meeting with Captain L’ulo goes about as well as can be expected. She’s very professional, knows her stuff. The time goes by easily and you know that, if you have to, you can continue working well with her far into the future. She was just… not that fun. It’s all facts and data and no-nonsense questions. By the time dinner rolls around you’re tired and a little cranky. You send BB-8 to a charging bay next to your desk and head to the dining hall.

There’s a pall over the meal. He was the first person lost on Ansion base in months, a hero of the Resistance. Around you, small groups are reminiscing, already speaking of him in the past tense. You want to correct them - tell them that he’s not gone until they find the body. This isn’t Mustafar - they _would_ find the ship and body, one way or the other.

Ship and _pilot_ , you correct yourself. Finding a body would mean he was dead and there was no way a man that arrogant about his flying went down in a crash. No possible way. Eventually, the low murmurs get to you and you leave, dropping most of your meal into the trash.

You try to read in your quarters but can’t concentrate. Try to work on one of your electronics projects but after soldering four wires into one messy blob you give up. Maybe you could catch up on paperwork instead. You hadn’t even changed out of your jumpsuit yet so it was no issue to make your way back to the hangar.

You spend an hour cleaning up the pile of messages on your desk. Responding to urgent requests, maintenance queries, and even start up a conversation with the Chief Mechanic on Hoth about cold-weather conditioning of A-Wings.

The next hour is spent optimizing the charging ports for all the droids. Once the diagnostics and updates are done, you move on to cleaning and polishing the stations. The droids trill at your curiously and you multi-task by having them run self-diagnostics and scheduling updates and repairs as needed. That was easily another hour.

By the time you run out of things to do it is well past midnight. The hangar has a hush over it, the few people on shift at this time being quiet, almost reverent. Black One is sitting silhouetted at the mouth of the hangar. Like a talisman. Or a memorial.

You see blinking lights heading in for a landing, and raise an eyebrow. All fleet ships are in their bays and accounted for. You don’t have your radio and so can’t hear the tower and callsign. Must be someone new, an unscheduled stopover. Bay 10 is empty and ready for just such an occurrence and the team on shift can handle any needs. Ignoring it, you climb atop a series of crates and start double checking your numbers and stock. It wasn’t really part of your purview, but it could eat up another two hour, easy.

There’s a commotion at the far end of the hangar near the landing.A group of people walking and laughing through the quiet night. It feels almost sacrilegious. Didn’t they _know_? Didn’t they know that the base was mourning one of its own? You make a mental note to talk to the night shift Chief in the morning.

"Heya Grease Monkey."

You freeze, hands midway to their task. Slowly you set the data pad you’re holding down, swallowing hard. You turn and there he is, flanked by base security who are definitely escorting him somewhere important but you don’t care because he’s _here_ and he’s _alive_ and you don’t even think before your boots hit the ground and you’re running towards him and all you can see is his smile. You throw yourself at him - not even thinking of the fact that his flight suit is torn and muddy and obviously something bad happened and he’s probably injured - because you thought he was _dead_ and he’s _not_ and all that matters right now is touching him and making sure that he’s real.

He catches you of course. You never even considered he might not. His arms closing around you as you fling yours around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder and you’re not crying, you swear you’re not. But your face is scrunched up and your breath is shuddering in your body and he’s murmuring into your hair and telling you everything is okay but it’s _not_ okay, not yet. Because you still can’t believe he’s here and you hug his body even closer to yours until you hear a sharp grunt come from him and now he’s saying something about his ribs but then again he’s not letting you go either.

It takes more than one pointed cough from the security guards for you to loosen your hold. To pull back so you look into his face and how could you have ever thought for a moment that there was nothing special there? His eyes are fathomless, his hair falling in touchable curls across his forehead, his mouth lowering to yours and your lids flutter closed and it is only the sharp " _Dameron_ " from nearby that breaks this spell and he freezes, closing his eyes tightly and swallowing hard before leaning down and touching his forehead to yours.

"Can I report out in the morning?"

There is discussion behind you, the guards conversing amongst themselves, before you hear the voice come back, "I don’t see why not." And then they’re leaving and Poe is backing you into the shadows, to the side of a crate, and he has one hand on your waist and the other in your hair and his lips on yours and _yes_.


	10. Chapter 10

_Finally_.

He’s not sure if he says the word out loud or just in his head but it doesn’t matter because her fingers are tracing the cords of his neck and then sinking into his hair and her mouth parts for him. Her tongue touches his lips first and he groans, pulling it into his mouth to tangle with his own. His hand drops to her thigh and with a quick movement he has it up and around his hip. Now he can step into the cradle of her body. Press himself against her. Feel every inch of her against every inch of him.

They kiss for minutes, hours, maybe even days. The universe stops on its axis and there is only the two of them. It’s everything he ever wanted - nothing he ever expected. While he’d been pulling together repairs of the craft he’d considered how she might react. The look on her face when she saw him. Relief probably, even if she’d try to hide it. Maybe a brief smile or flash of joy if he was lucky. In his better moments, he imagined her calling him Flyboy and making a crack about his flying. He hadn’t thought about anyone else, hadn’t spent any time at all fantasizing about other reactions to his miraculous escape. Just hers.

And all of those things had happened, the relief, the joy, and so much more had flashed across her face before she was throwing herself into his arms and it was something he hadn’t dared to dream about. She had said no already. Told him she didn’t want him, want this. And he was a man of honor who respected when people said 'no’ so he had let it go. Relegating any hopes to the late nights when he wouldn’t have to look into her face and think about the things he had imagined them doing.

But his imagination had never considered that she might change her mind. Well, never considered it as more than a pleasant way to pass an evening alone with his thoughts. She had seemed content to be friends, to bicker with him and work side by side. That one day she might want more had seemed unlikely. That one day she would look at him like he was more than a colleague. That one day he could walk up to her and she would throw herself into his arms and initiate everything he had ever wanted.

His imagination had fallen far short of reality. The tangle of her tongue with his and the arch her body beneath his hands. The rock of her hips into him, her thigh clenching on his waist. Had never even considered that she might be the one to rub and press against him like she can’t get enough when that was _his_ job. _He_ was the one who burned.

He groans. He can’t help it. The thought that she might want him as much as he wanted her… His mouth catches hers again, tongue thrusting inside as he lifts her hips even higher and grinds into her. The high-pitched squeak she makes is music, the rough tug of her fingers in his hair heaven.

He can hear her, hear the low moans, the soft catch in her throat and suddenly he remembers there is a whole galaxy of possibilities beyond this moment. Things that could not be easily or comfortably done against the side of a cargo container. Things waiting to be explored without the prying eyes of the two dozen people just out of sight.

"Come back to my quarters." Maker above was that his voice? Rocky and hoarse, more of a growl than the gentle entreaty he was hoping for. He swallows, ready to extend the invitation again. Nicer this time. A loud whirring and whistling noise interrupts and a heavy weight hits the back of his legs. He groans and has to physically wrench himself away to see what it is. There is BB-8, spinning in place and trilling happily.

"Hello to you too," he smiles down at his friend, taking the opportunity to slip a hand further down and under her thigh, cupping just under that fabulous ass. The droid makes a confused whistle and Poe sighs and hears a muffled giggle. He squeezes and she squeaks. "To do that I would have to let the Chief go and as you can see I’m all that’s holding her up." The droid looks as skeptical as a droid can and rolls into him again, gentler this time.

Poe reluctantly lets her leg go, quickly crouching down and stroking along several of BB-8’s sensors. "I’m glad you’re here too."

He looks back up at her. She looks soft, warm, smiling slightly. "But you-" he points and she looks surprised briefly before he stands up and wraps a hand around her neck, pulling her mouth to his again.

"Come with me," he tries again and is pleased that his voice is more even. More persuasive than commanding. She nods and he grabs her hand, pulling her away from the container and out of the hangar. He’s practically running and makes it to his door in record time, punching in the code and drawing her inside. He’s kissing her again, guiding her backwards until she falls against the edge of the bed. He pauses for a moment, wanting to take in the mental image of her there, lips swollen from his kisses. If he could freeze this moment in carbonite he would.


	11. Chapter 11

He stares at you like he’s never seen you before. Then he’s with you, bent over you, his hands framing your face and you’re kissing again but this time its different. This time there is quiet and peace and no fear of being caught. This time when he leans forward you can fall back onto the soft blankets, open your legs for him and hold him tight as he follows you down. He’s hovering over you, his hands braced next to your head with just his lips touching yours.

"I can’t believe you’re here," he whispers. You want to tell him of course you are. You’ve been dreaming about this, wanting this, yearning for this for weeks. You want to tell him you can’t believe that he’s alive. That he really wants you when he could have anyone at all. You want to tell him … but his lips have fallen to your neck and his tongue is tracing the smooth skin and you can’t say anything because you’re too busy moaning. Your arms pull at him and you both twist together so you’re lying with him by your side, slightly above you, with one of his knees still between your legs and his mouth on your shoulder.

You arch into him, feel his tongue across your skin. The scrape of his teeth along your collarbone until the edge of your jumpsuit stops him. He doesn’t move it, just lazily traces his way back, licking behind your ear and flicking the lobe lightly with his tongue.

"Poe," you sigh, clenching your thighs around his. His hands gather you to him, stroking down your back as he pulls the soft flesh of your ear between his lips and _sucks_. You gasp, mouth falling open and realize his neck is right _there_. He smells of sweat and tastes of salt and you sacrifice the amazing things he’s doing to your ear to run your own tongue along the edge of his jaw. To lick down, open your mouth and pull against his skin. He moans and you feel it vibrate through you, all the way between your legs where you shift against him - trying to press him where you need him.

"Gods above just… touch me. _Please_." It comes out as a whine but you don’t care. You would beg for him if you needed to.

You feel his breath fan across your cheek, his tongue touching tracing the rim of your ear. "Touch you pretty thing? I’d burn my hands." And then his mouth is on yours again and you can taste him. You twist under him trying to find that pressure, that release. You’d be embarrassed by the high keening noise that escapes you but it only makes him kiss you harder, his knee coming up to press firmer between your legs and your noise becomes a gasp.

"That’s it," he encourages against your lips. One hand is locked into your hair, the other cupping your jaw, "What do you want?" You moan and can feel him smile, "Use your words."

"I want _you_." Everything inside of you is on fire, your blood pulsing in your veins, centering between your legs as you press yourself against him.

"If you _want_ it, _take_ it." It’s a growl, a command, his chest is heaving against yours. His knee presses firmly to your center and you clench your hands into the fabric of his shirt, your body twisting against him and there it is. That peak, that _feeling_ and it only takes one more move and you feel the world shatter around you. You’re crying out, alternating between his name and names of gods you don’t even believe in. He’s talking too, telling you you’re beautiful and perfect and pressing kisses all over your face.

You come back to your body in stages. First touch, the feel of his shirt balled into your fists, his hand clenched in your hair, the hot feel of his breath on your cheek. Then the smell of sweat and salt and the soap he uses. You can hear the rough panting of your own breath, the shuddering response of his. Your eyes flutter open and you stare into his - the pupils are blown, his gaze on your face. You release the shirt slowly, one hand slides up behind his neck and pulls his face down to yours and the kiss is slow and wet, tongues tangling and breath mingling. You can feel the hard length of him pressing to your hip and like someone flicking a switch the entire situation comes rushing back to you.

You’re laying on top of the lumpiest bed you’ve ever been on. Rubbing yourself against _Poe Dameron_ like some kind of shameless… and you were both still fully clothed. Hell, you were still wearing your boots. And yet you had chanted his name and come in an embarrassingly short amount of time with little more than his tongue in your mouth. What was _happening_?

The last few hours become crystal clear. The fear and loss and then seeing him. You’d acted on instinct and that instinct told you to wrap yourself around him and remember what it was like to be alive. To prove to yourself that he was here with you and not a corpse on the side of a mountain. You can’t blame him, as much as you might want to, you had literally _thrown yourself_ at him the moment he got back. But now, with your mind clearing and your heart beating fast, now everything feels too soon and too sudden and you can’t _think_ with his tongue stroking yours.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," the low rumble settles in your bones and dear Gods that is not helping at _all_. He pulls back and nuzzles his nose against yours, "Thank you."

"For what?" The question is out before you realize it and you blush.

His smile is wide, warm, heart-wrenching. "It’s not every day a man gets to watch a goddess go supernova."

Why does he have to be so fucking handsome and the way he’s looking at you, like you just hung a moon in the sky for him, it’s too much- too much _everything_. "Poe I-"

A chirp from nearby. The comms panel. Oh thank the _stars_. He hangs his head a moment, resting his forehead against your shoulder. "Yah?"

- _Commander Dameron why have you not reported for your brief out?_ -

Cursing, he turns his head fully from you, towards the comm panel, and you can see the profile of his face. The arch of his eyebrow, the fullness of his lips, the patrician nose and long column of his neck, the - _oh fucking shit -_ the dark bruise forming halfway down his throat where you had… It was a hickey. Might as well call it what it was. A hickey that would be impossible to hide.

"I, uh, I was told that could wait til morning?"

- _By who Commander?_ -

A soft curse and he turns to you, pressing his lips to yours in a hard, soul-wrenching kiss. His hands coming up to cup your face as he thrusts his tongue into your mouth.

- _Commander?_ -

"I’m _coming_." He calls out and reluctantly lifts himself from the bed, away from you, and you’re left with the sudden feeling of being exposed even though not a stitch of clothing has been moved.

"You," he points and you freeze in the act of sitting up. "You wait right there. Right _there_. Do not move a single muscle. I’ll be…" His eyes rove over your body and he groans. "I will be back as soon as I am physically able." He heads out the door and you sit up, covering your face in your hands. Just before the door can slide closed he pops back. "BB-8, make sure she stays right there," he commands one more time, this time focusing on the droid and pointing at the bed for good measure.

Then he’s gone. And you’re left with the overwhelming feeling that this was quite possibly the biggest and dumbest and worst mistake of your life - and yet all you want in the world is to do exactly what he said and stay right there.


	12. Chapter 12

It was the shortest after-action he can ever recall giving. Yes, there were mechanical difficulties. Ejected the kid at low altitude, ship went down in a ravine, iron probably shielded the sensors. Fixed it himself. Of course he could report out to the maintenance team. Seemed like a one-off, no need to be worried about the other craft.

They had more questions for him obviously but his impatience must have been palpable because the Officer on duty waves him off towards the MedBay and when he tries to demur the request becomes an order, in no uncertain terms, to report for care now or risk any number of unnamed yet horrible outcomes.

And so it is that another hour passes before he can get back his quarters. An hour of being prodded in his ribs and having them pronounced bruised but not broken. Of being told to take it easy for a day and not do anything strenuous when all he can think of is the strenuous activities he wants to do in his bunk with the person he left there.

A full ninety minutes. Ninety minutes from the time he left to get back to his quarters, to smooth a hand through his hair and feel the stubble on his cheeks. He should have stopped to shave, considers heading off to showers to do just that, before nixing the idea and punching in the code at the door.

BB-8 meets him, trilling wildly and he wishes he could be surprised that the droid was alone. He knew the moment he left that there were even odds that she might come to her senses. That whatever emotion had brought her into his arms wouldn’t survive him leaving her to her thoughts. It wasn’t a surprise, but it was still a disappointment.

"I thought I told you to keep her here?" He asks the droid accusingly. BB-8 gives an affronted whirl and begins beeping furiously. "Yeah yeah, I know I know." He crosses and sits on the edge of the bed. It’s cold. She’s been gone a while. He wonders how soon after he left that she did the same. Had she even considered staying? Suddenly he tunes back in to what BB-8 is saying.

"No you should _not_ have tasered her, good job. Good thinking." The droid seems content that it made the right decision in not assaulting the woman Poe wanted to sleep with. Sometimes he wondered about the processing that went on in the little machine.

He drops back on the bed, grunting at the ache in his ribs. Letting himself sink into the sheets his mind goes immediately to what had happened in this bed earlier. The feel of her beneath his hands. The taste of her on his tongue. The way she had come apart for him. If he lived a thousand years he would never forget the sound she made when she came. The way she had chanted his name and held him like she was never going to let him go.

He groans, unzipping his flightsuit and reaching inside to stroke along his length. This time, when he sinks into the fantasy of her body, he has real data to compare it to. Can extrapolate from the taste of her neck to what the soft skin just beneath her breast might taste of - or the sensitive stretch along the inside of her thigh. Can imagine the exact noise she might make if nipped her just _there_ …

A few minutes later he had washed himself and crawled back into the bed, beneath the blankets this time. He needed a plan, a strategy. He knew three things for certain:

1) She was attracted to him.  
2) She cared about him.  
3) She liked him.

He paused then moved the third item into "Trending Likely" rather than "Certain." It was enough though, a solid foundation for him to feel comfortable pursuing it. He fell asleep that night with the sound of her voice echoing in his head.

" _I want you_ ," she had said.

Well, he was more than willing to oblige.

+++

It was a testament to how little he was paying attention in the morning that he was entering the dining hall before he considered that his miraculous return might cause a stir. Word had already gotten out, but it seemed everyone on base wanted to come up and clap him on the back and tell him how they had just _known_ that he would make it back.

The pilots wanted to know how he had landed the failing ship.

"You only had half power on the aux engine?"

"No yaw control?"

"Wait, _none_ of the altimeter sensors were functioning?"

The mechanics, on the other hand, wanted to know how he had managed to fix it enough to fly it back.

"You used _what_ to repair the transistor cable?"

"What did you use for an emitter array?"

"Every handbook says that thing can’t fly with only the thrusters… _how_?"

Poe fielded them as best he could. Most of the questions, in the end, came down to the fact that he had done things that it wouldn’t have occurred to them to do. Which was fair, if he’d been a different man he’d have just walked back and sent out a salvage crew. But he wasn’t a different man, he was a _pilot_ and as far as he was concerned unless a ship was actively on fire and in several thousand pieces, it was still flyable. And even if it was those things - he’d probably still give it a go.

A few people seemed incredulous that he didn’t look more beat up. He had to patiently explain that in fact he _was_ beat up, it was just under his clothes. He said it with a wink and a smile and had he been paying attention would have seen more than one person blush.

"What about that one?" The tech points at his head and Poe reaches a hand up and feels his cheek.

"Just a scrape on a branch when I-"

"No," the tech corrects, leaning forward to be more exact. " _That_ one."

Poe touches his neck and draws his eyebrows together. "I don’t remember. What does it look like?"

"It looks exactly like a-" He’s interrupted when the person to his left elbows him hard in the stomach. "What did you do that for? It _does_ look just like a-"

"Lieutenant!" The tech jumps back, turning to salute the approaching officer.

"Colonel Nexler, ma’am!"

The older woman nods at the group. "Don’t you all have somewhere to be?" They scatter and Poe sits up straighter as the officer sits down across from him.

"Colonel Nexler."

"Commander," she acknowledges. "I hear you had an adventure."

"Nothing so much as all that," he demurs. Nexler wasn’t in his usual chain of command. He wasn’t sure why she was here.

"Mmhmm," the woman nods and Poe swallows hard. "Well, you should consider heading over to the MedBay. I think they might be able to take care of your bumps and bruises."

"Oh that won’t be necessary ma’am," Poe quickly says, "I was there already last night."

She raises an eyebrow and a sly smile spreads across her face. "Oh really? Interesting. Well, back to your duties son. I’m sure you have somewhere to be as well."

He jumps up and salutes, "Yes ma’am!"

As he leaves he sees the tech from before in a hushed but vehement conversation. They watch him go by and he hears the tech whisper loudly, "That’s _exactly_ what it looks like and you _know it_." Poe makes a detour to the nearest refresher room. Leaning into the mirror he doesn’t see anything strange and decides to shrug it off until he turns and his eye catches the dark purple bruise high on his neck.

"What the-?" He cranes his head sideways and tries to get a better view. "Where did that-?" Suddenly he remembers. Remembers her tongue on his neck. The way she had bit and sucked on him with such intensity he’d nearly come out of his skin. Slowly, he begins to grin. She’d given him a hickey. He touches it with two fingers and his smile widens. There was something about seeing the physical proof that she had wanted him that was doing _wonders_ to his mood.

Whistling to himself he made his way to the hangar with a spring in his step, automatically scanning for her.

"Commander Dameron!"

Poe turns at the sound of his name and sees the mechanic, Rezil, hurrying towards him. "What can I do for you Sergeant?"

Rezil smiles and holds out a data pad. "Chief asked me to check in with you about today’s repair schedule. Black Four needs a line cleaning and Black Eight-"

"Wait," Poe cuts the other man off. "What do you mean?"

"Well there have been reports that Black Four has some sluggishness on start and-"

"No," Poe interrupts again. "The other part. About the Chief."

"Oh," Rezil tilts his head. "She said I should check in with you about the repair schedule."

"Did she say why?"

Rezil hesitates, obviously sensing the change in Poe’s mood. "She doesn’t usually tell me why she wants me to do things…"

"Mmhmm," Poe acknowledges, turning to scan the hangar - looking for one person in particular. "And where might Chief be?"

"In Bay 5 probably?"

Poe walks away, his long strides eating up space. He hears Rezil yell behind him, "Commander, what about the repair schedule?"

"Whatever you have for today is fine," Poe calls back over his shoulder. He crosses into Bay 5, ducking under the wing of the A-Wing. Her desk is empty of people, although he can see a mounting pile of data pads and documents. He ducks back into the hangar proper and sees her talking to a team at Bay 8.

"Hey, Chief!"

He’d expected many reactions from her. A biting comment. A glare. Maybe an eyeroll. What he doesn’t expect is for her to ignore him. Well, if she was going to be that way…

He crosses to the small group and grins at the assembled team. Several give him well-wishes and he accepts them graciously, watching her from the corner of his eye.

"Commander Dameron, what happened to your neck?"

"Dismissed!" She practically shouts it at them and they freeze before shooting each other confused looks and slowly drifting away. She doesn’t say anything when they do, just stares blankly at the data pad in her hands.

"Chief I-"

"Can we not?" She interrupts.

Taken aback he raises an eyebrow and turns fully towards her. "Can we not what?"

"Do this." She gestures vaguely between them.

"Well I think it bears talking about."

"Probably," she admits. "But not right now?

"Are you planning to avoid me forever?"

She turns, smiling but it’s obviously for the sake of the people around them. It’s tight and doesn’t reach her eyes. "No, just today."

"You can’t-" he starts but she doesn’t let him finish.

"I _can_ ," she corrects forcefully. "I _can_ and I _am_."

He steps closer, lowering his voice so only she can hear him. "I’m not going to go away. Not after-"

"Please, _Commander_ ," she stresses the syllables as she interrupts, eyes darting around the crowded hangar, "Just, give me - give me some time to think. _Please_."

He notes what he had missed before, the dark circles under her eyes. The tired droop to her shoulders. She looks - bad. Like one good gust of wind would blow her over.

He gives her a short nod and leaves her there.


	13. Chapter 13

Laying in bed that night you stare at the ceiling. Wide awake. Today had been absolutely horrible and tomorrow was not going to be any better. At least you wouldn’t have to see _him_ tomorrow. That could at least be put off a couple more days.

You roll over, trying to get comfortable. But it’s not the bed that’s keeping you awake. It’s the memory of him. Of his hands on you. How he tasted. How he felt. The way he _talked_ …

Why had no one ever told you how sexy it was to _talk_?

And while it had admittedly been some time since you’d been to bed with anyone, the fact that you had come apart in such a short amount of time was almost embarrassing. _Look at the Chief_ , you think to yourself mockingly, _needs to get laid so bad she can get off in ten seconds flat_.

You try to be mad at him for the entirely made up scenario you’ve created but can’t. Not after the way he had looked at you. The way he had held you and gods he had _thanked_ you for coming for him. As though that was enough. As though…

As though you were enough.

Cursing you sit up, throwing a pillow across the room. It didn’t matter what he thought. He could believe himself head over heels in love with you and when the squadron was reassigned next year or next month he’d move on and never look back. And you’d be stuck here on Ansion. Alone.

And he’d… he’d find someone else. Someone at a new base or new ship. You try to imagine them but even a vague picture has you gritting your teeth. You _hate_ the imaginary person he might move on to. Which was ridiculous because you couldn’t hate them for having what you refused to take. He could be yours, for some amount of time, if you only reached out and…

Sighing you flop back onto the blanket, your head dropping pillow-less to the mattress. This was maddening. You should just go to sleep and think about this tomorrow. You’d have plenty of time while you were walking to mull this over to your heart’s content. Now it was time to go to sleep.

 _Good talk_ , you think to yourself, then shut your eyes and concentrate on your breathing.

Five minutes later you open them again.

 _Fuck_.

+++

It wouldn’t be fair to say you wake up the next morning. The reality is that you open your eyes and maybe there was sleep involved but if so not enough. Groaning you roll over and reach for your jumpsuit before remembering that today was training day. You make a sound that might be another groan, might be halfway to crying, and heave yourself across the small room to pull out a pair of sturdy pants and a long sleeve shirt. Staring longingly at your work boots you pull on a comfortable set of hiking boots instead. You grab your canteen and a scarf and make a note to grab the rest of your kit on the way to the dining hall.

You’d put it off as long as possible. The Wilderness Certification. You were required to take _at least_ one person out, dropped off 20 or so kilometers from base, and show them the ropes of survival on the planet. It was usually pretty interesting and - other than two years ago when you’d had to call for an emergency evacuation because the poor thing had refused to eat anything they’d found - you looked forward to it. Today you looked forward to it especially because it meant at least one night away from base. Totally out of contact and unavailable for anyone to bother with pesky questions about relationships and sleeping arrangements.

 _Coward_ , a small voice inside you whispers.

 _Yes_ , your greater mind agrees, _yes in this one thing I am and I’m allowing myself to be so shut up._

You pick up your gear and a blaster from the inventory and head to the hangar to see Rezil and check in on any last minute issues before you leave. Everything seems set, in fact they could run without you for a week if necessary. Of course, if a full week goes by then something would have gone _very_ wrong.

Satisfied, you make your way to the secondary hangar, where the smaller craft are kept and where the transport will be dropping you and your companion off. Maybe if you’re nice enough they’ll forgive you for some of the things you said the day Poe had gone missing. Speaking of, there he was. Dressed in casual clothes and with a pack over one should and a blaster strapped to one thigh.

Oh. Oh no. The galaxy would not be that unkind. It _wouldn’t_.

Of course it would. You check the day’s roster and sure enough, there are your names side by side. It’s as though the universe was actively laughing at you. "Fuck," you mutter and step away, almost running into him as he goes to check for himself. You don’t say anything, just walk away and set to work tightening the straps of your bag.

"Hey," his voice draws your attention up. "If you want - I get that you might not be ready to -" he runs a hand through his hair, "Dammit, do you want me to ask for a switch?"

And you realize, presented with the option, that you don’t. Oh, this was going to be awkward and strange and by no means your first choice. But also, it would probably do some good for your two to talk away from the base. Just the two of your with no raids, no meetings, no prying ears. At least it meant you would probably be able to actually _sleep_ at some point in the near future. So you stand, shake your head. "No, I think… I think maybe we should … seize it as an opportunity." He raises one eyebrow and you quickly say "Not for _that_."

"For what?" He asks, all innocence.

"For…" you struggle for the word, "shenanigans. Canoodling."

" _Canoodling_?"

A soft whirring interrupts your conversation and you look down to see BB-8 looking up at Poe inquisitively. He drops to one knee and gently pats the droid. "Hey, I told you about this. I’ll be back in a couple days." The droid whistles morosely then turns it’s head unit to look at you. It beeps angrily and you make a face. Poe looks between the two of you, "What’s this?"

"Your droid is a menace," you state firmly and ignore the aspersions the BB unit casts on your character.

"Did something happen between you two," Poe frowns as he stands back up.

You point one finger accusingly at the small droid. "Do you know what it did when I was trying to leave your quarters?"

Poe smothers a laugh, "Well, he _wanted_ to taser you and didn’t, which I think was very nice of him."

You turn accusing eyes on BB-8, "You were going to do _what_?" The droid beeps and spins, "That’s horrible!"

"In his defense," Poe tries to break in, "he only thought about it, he didn’t actually…"

"Yes but it _thought_ about it," you glare at the droid and it trills something uncomplimentary back.

Poe tries again, "I want to do a _lot_ of things to you but you don’t hold those against me." He freezes after he says, looking at you sideways to see your response.

Turning to him you raise an eyebrow before smiling. "Oh I definitely hold all of them against you." He returns your smile and you feel an easiness settle over you. Avoidance was not a good strategy. It didn’t sit well with you in the best of times. And now, having made the decision to spend time, one on one, with Poe where you would obviously at some point _have_ to confront all of…. well, everything… you feel a bit more at peace.

You file into the transport with Poe. They would fly around a few times, drop pairs of people off hither and yon so as to confused the participants, before heading a random direction for twenty minutes and returning to base.. You two are the last to be dropped, the pilot grinning as he sets down. "Good look Commander! You’ll need it!"

Off the ship, you give the departing craft a skeptical look. "Do you think that’s a good sign?"

"Nope," Poe replies matter of factly, pulling out the map and scanning the contents.

"OK." You turn to him, arms crossed, "Alright then Flyboy, what’s first?"


	14. Chapter 14

"No absolutely not."

Okay, in Poe’s defense he hadn’t realized that choosing the direction he had would place them at the top of a fairly steep crevasse with, he was pretty certain, the way back to base across an eight foot jump to the other side. The map was detailed, but not down to this level. Not to the foot.

"We can absolutely make that. It’s nothing." He’s trying to be encouraging but hadn’t really expected such vehement refusal to what seemed to him to be a pretty simple obstacle.

" _We_ absolutely cannot," she’s standing a few meters from the edge, arms crossed over her chest.

"Nah," he crouches down and swings his pack off. "See what we’ll do is sling our bags across and then get a running start and we’ll-"

"I can see the missive now," she interrupts, gazing into the distance over his shoulder. "The Resistance regrets to inform you that your children are dead due to stupidity."

"Oh come on, it’s not that bad."

"It’s exactly that bad."

He peers over the edge again, hands on his hips. Then looks at the lead-up to the rim. "I mean come look at this, I think even if the jump is short there’s a ledge on the other side…" He realizes that she hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even pretended to move. "What are you doing? Come look."

"No thank you."

"What’s the matter?"

"Nothing," she’s refusing to meet his eyes. "I just like it over here."

"Are you… are you scared of heights?" He knows he asks it with more confusion than it deserves but frankly, it had never occurred to him that people might be. He himself got such joy from soaring high, seeing the world far below him, the idea that anyone else might not was difficult to comprehend.

"I am not _scared_ of heights," she bites off. "I have a perfectly reasonable and healthy _respect_ for heights."

"Huh," he grunts, "scared of heights. Who knew?"

"I am not-"

"Yeah yeah," he cuts her off, tilting his head at the problem. He looks down into the crevasse, then back at her. "Have you ever… tried _not_ being afraid?" The look she gives him could melt chrome and he backs off. "Ok, how about… how about we stop and have lunch and then we can figure out next steps on a full stomach?"

She visibly relaxes, "That sounds good." He can see the shift in her - back to mentor. "So what around here is edible Flyboy?"

He smothers a smile and looks around the small clearing. "Well there’s some greenery and berries around, some of them probably are good to eat."

"And how would you test that?"

He rolls up his sleeves and crosses to a tree with several vines falling off it, each with round, ripe, purple berries hanging in large clusters. He puts his fist to his hips and studies it. "First, I’d cut one in half and rub it on the skin of my arm, see if there’s any reaction." She nods and he continues, "Presuming there’s no reaction I’d feed one to you and see what happens."

"Ha. Ha."

"Well, I know you’re not going to let me die out here, so…"

Grinning he reaches for one of the berries and hears her behind him, "Be careful, those are venomous."

"I think you mean poisonous," he corrects, stopping his reach and looking to see if there’s anything else on the tree that seems edible.

"No I don’t."

He jerks his hand back just before the leaves of the vine clamp down where it had been. "What the-"

She comes up alongside him and gives him a small smirk. "It’s not terrible on something our size, it would just make you kind of drowsy. But that could have a big impact if something _else_ finds you." Darting her hand out quickly she plucks a bunch of berries and pulls back. The vine pulls in on itself in what almost looks like petulance. "But, the berries actually _are_ delicious."

He raises an eyebrow at her and then turns to look at the remaining bunches. None of them are as easy to pluck as the one she had, but there is one… "Ha!" He shouts in triumph, holding a generous handful of the purple fruit. She grins in return and pops a berry into her mouth, moving a few feet away to sit on a rock. He gives the vine one last suspicious glare and then drops ungracefully on the ground near to her.

From this angle he can see the curve of her jaw, the line of her neck. Once again he’s struck by her strong features. The way the sun glints in her hair. It occurs to him that he’d be perfectly content to sit for hours and just look at her. Well, maybe not hours. He wasn’t good at sitting still that long. But minutes certainly. Entire minutes devoted to looking at her.

They munch in companionable silence for a minute before Poe breaks and ventures a question, "So why’d you leave the other night?"

She chokes. Her body heaving until he reaches up and punches her in the back. " _Gack_."

He purses his lips. "Ok, so maybe that was too difficult a question to start with and you know what? That’s fair." He pops a berry in his mouth, "I kind of get the impression you run hot and cold on me."

She groans, hanging her head. "Are you always this blunt about-" she gestures expansively and he shrugs.

"Usually. Find it saves time."

"Mmhmm." She turns to face him more fully, crossing her legs on the rock and tilting her head. "I’m not - I don’t run hot or cold about you - well not _you_ you. Just you _here_."

"Ah," he nods, "that clears things up." It didn’t, not even a little. But he gets the sense that there would be no use trying to follow that particular thought any further.

"I _do_ like you," her face is so earnest he smiles. Then grins as he raises a hand to touch the mark on his neck.

"I gathered that."

She blushes. It starts at her ears, moving to her cheeks and down her neck, disappearing down into her shirt. His eyes trace it and he wonders how far down it goes. She clears her throat and looks away from him. "Yeah, I uh, got a little carried away. To be honest, I don’t even remember it. Sorry."

He did. Remembered the feel of her lips against his neck. The exact moment that she had _sucked_ and he’d thought for just a moment he had died. Died in the way he’d always hoped to go - in bed and in someone’s arms. Not, to be clear, the way he always _expected_ he would go - in battle with the First Order."No reason to be sorry," he throws a stem from the berry bunch into a shrub. "You are welcome to do it again anytime you’d like."

She bites her lip, just for a split second, and he imagines her launching herself off the rock and into his arms. Alas, it was not to be. "I don’t usually get … carried away … with people stationed here." She looks away from him, "In my experience it’s not a good idea."

"Huh," he looks out over the crevasse, thinking. "Just pilots or-?"

"Anyone," she fills in. "Anyone that’s just…. stopping by."

"Ahh," he says. That explains a lot. Well, at least it explained _more_. He idly picks a blade of grass and twirls it between his fingers. "Well that’s too bad."

Still not looking at him, she stares off into the distance. "Yeah."

He sits for a minute, thinking. "So you _don’t_ want me to kiss you again."

She makes a low noise halfway between a moan and a whine. "That’s not what I said."

"Then you’re going to need to explain it better."

She sighs heavily and turns those wide eyes back to him. "It’s not that I don’t want…" she gestures between them. "And it’s not that I don’t like you." She stops and swallows, "I can’t have someone leave me here." A pause and then the faintest of whispers, "… again."

Poe Dameron had been in more aerial fights with First Order than he could easily count. He had run covert missions on desolate planets. He had scars from blaster fire and nearly lost a leg once in a crash. All of them he had walked away from - with a grin and the certainty that he could overcome anything the galaxy wanted to throw at him. But faced with this moment - and a promise he knows he can’t make - he feels a deep sense of helplessness for the first time since he was a child.

He reaches out and takes her hand, turning the palm over and cupping her fingers in his. "I can’t tell you I won’t be transferred tomorrow." She jerks and he grips her hand more tightly. "I’m not going to lie to you. It could happen. But other people make these things work."

Her thumb brushes across the back of his hand and he feels it through his entire body, "Are you sure you don’t want to just… fool around? With no strings?"

Everything inside him goes warm, his lips parting as he tries to suck in air. Does he want to… is she _serious_ right now? There is no universe in which this gorgeous, brilliant woman is going to offer to … _fool around_ with him. He must have heard her wrong.

"I lied to you earlier." See? That was it. She was lying. Easy, that must be it. He raises an eyebrow at her and she blushes. "I do remember doing this," her fingers of her free hand come up as she speaks, her body turning as she reaches out and caresses the dark bruise on his neck. His heart stops beating, he forgets how to breath. "I remember every moment from that night." She swallows and tugs on his hand a little, pulling him towards her. "And I would very much like to do it again."

His body is moving before he can even think, swaying towards her, free hand coming up to reach for her hip and pull her off the rock to him. Her mouth is so close and as he watches, her dainty pink tongue slowly peaks out and wets her lips. His grip tightens on her hand and he shuts his eyes. She’s so close. So close he can smell the salty sweat of her skin, the hint of the berries she had had for lunch. She would taste like them - sweet and luscious and…

"No," the word is out before he can think about it.

She pulls back slightly. "What?"

"No," he says again, eyes meeting hers. "This isn’t what I want."

"I’m saying that I-" but she pulls herself up short, obviously struggling. Pulling her hand from his she leans away. "I thought you would want this. Want _me_."

He jerks his head up, eyes crashing into hers and she leans backwards as he lunges forward, gathering her into his arms and kissing her like his life depends on it. Like she’s water and he’s been stuck on Tatooine for weeks. Like he’ll never give her up. And she melts into it, her body softening and her tongue tangling with his. She tastes like he remembers, and she sighs into his mouth like he remembers. It takes everything in him to stop, telling his body that this is the right thing to do.

Breathless, he pulls away slowly, cupping her face in his hands. "I want all of you. Every bit. From the tips of your fingers all the way to that prickly little heart of yours. _All_ of you." He moves away carefully, making sure she’s able to hold herself up. "And until you’re ready to give that I’m not going to settle for half measures."

"Poe-"

"No," he says again and then grins. "If you want my body you’ll have to take everything that comes with it." He nearly comes out of his skin when her eyes roam down said body, lingering at his waistline. That tongue again, this time lingering on her bottom lip and he turns away quickly before she can see the effect she’s having on him.

"So about this jump…"

A choking sound behind him, a curse. "Are you… you’re going to… _what_?"

He turns back to her. "What?"

She stands, brushing her pants off. "I want to be clear. You’re telling me that to sleep with you I have to… what… marry you?"

He shrugs, "Not that serious, but some kind of commitment would be nice, yes."

"But that’s-"

He cuts her off, "It’s my terms. You want me? You have to take all of me." Her pupils dilate when he says it and suddenly he hears himself, hears the words. He blushes, actually feels himself blush, then shifts uncomfortably at what the mental image of her taking _all of him_ entails. He shakes his head sharply. "Now that we have that cleared up, what are we going to do about your fear of this jump?"

"I’m - you are… I’m not afraid," she grits out, arms crossed as she glares at him.

"Mhmm," he mutters skeptically, "sure. Same way you’re not afraid of commitment."

He hears her curse behind him. Then footsteps, quickly approaching. He turns to look and sees her go flying past him - leaping the crevasse without ever actually looking at it. Judging it. Doing any kind of-

"Shit," he mutters and before she even lands on the other side he’s running back and setting himself up to make the leap himself. To be there to pull her up if needs be. Visions of her dangling on the edge of the crevasse, eyes wide with terror flash across his mind as he takes to the air. He lands just after she regains her footing, slamming into her and knocking them both to the ground. They roll a few times, hitting every rock for fifty miles or so it feels like. When they stop she’s half on top of him, one leg between his. She lifts herself to glare at him.

"I told you I’m not afraid."

He can feel every harsh breath she’s taking, the length of her body pressed to him. He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from her face. "Of anything?" He asks.

She freezes, hovering over him for a moment before pulling away and he sits up as she does. She doesn’t say anything just watches him. Smiling, he dusts himself off and stands up, "Well, if you change your mind my body is here waiting for you." He sees her swallow and holds out one hand to help lift her to her feet. When she takes it he freezes, slowly turning the arm over.

There is a gash along the outside of her arm, not deep but seeping blood nevertheless. How neither of them had noticed it before now was… well… not exactly unexpected if he were being honest. He’d had other things to think of. She looks down and flinches, "I think it happened when I landed."

"When I hit you, you mean," he says. He kneels down and pulls his canteen and basic antiseptics from his pack. "This might sting," he cautions and he winces at the same time she does as he pours the water and then the bacta on the wound.

Pursing his lips, he blows across it gently, looking up and meeting her eyes. She shudders and her lips part as she looks down at him, leaning forward. It would be so easy to meet her there, to kiss her senseless and roll her to the ground and… that’s a decision she’ll have to make. Quickly, he pulls his scarf off, folding it in half then wrapping it around the wound and letting her go. "I think this will keep it until we can get back."

She’s frozen in place, staring at her arm wrapped in the brown and black fabric. Finally, she looks up at him. "Thank you."

He nods, "You’re welcome, now let’s go see if we’re where I think we are." He repacks his bag quickly and points confidently down the sparse trail.

Taking the lead, he turns the problem over in his head. She liked him and wanted him. That, on its own, was _fantastic_ news. She had convinced herself for a patently _dumb_ reason that she couldn’t have him. He would just have to convince all of the parts of her that she _could_ have it all and that it would be amazing when they did. That there was more to all this than physical attraction - that he had more to offer and she had more to give.

In the meantime, there was no harm in maybe tempting her along, was there?


	15. Chapter 15

You should have known he wouldn’t play fair. There was absolutely nothing about him that said 'I will play fair.' In fact, you were pretty sure he was wearing a giant glowing sign that said 'I am a big fat cheater that will cheat to get what I want. Like a cheater.'

The first hint had come just after midday, just after you had crested the small rise and he took his bearings on the map. The sun was beating down and the sparse shrubs and small rocks gave no opportunity for shade. You had leaned against one, looking out over the small valley you both had just hiked out of, and drawn the arm wrapped in his scarf across your brow to wipe away the sweat.

"Damn it’s hot to-"

You turn as you say it, probably to speak to him or ask him a question. Whatever it was it immediately flies out of your head because he has taken his shirt off and is using it to wipe the back of his neck. He had taken his shirt _off_. Just, holding it. In his hand. The golden skin of his chest glistening in the sun. He has a long cord around his neck, a ring threaded through it. He’s facing you, probably watching you, but you can’t tell because you can’t take your eyes off the movement of his hand as it strokes across his chest then down further, skimming across his stomach. You swallow, hard, mouth suddenly dry and it has nothing to do with the heat.

He pauses there, letting the shirt dangle from his fingers. Giving you an unobstructed view of bare skin and the dark whorls of hairtapering down and disappearing into his waistband. Dear gods his nipples and his lips are the same color and you could have gone your whole life not knowing that for sure because now you _know_ and knowing means _imagining_. It means thinking about his nipples every time you see that curve of his too-perfect mouth, a mouth that is lifting in one corner as he watches you ogle him.

"You can touch if you want." You know you must look foolish, lips parted and staring at him, your chest heaving as you try to suck in air. You start to move, start to walk toward him and that lovely _body_ … "You know the price."

You freeze, jaw snapping shut. You feel the muscles of your face tighten and quickly spin on one foot, looking away and into the beautiful mountain scenery that can’t hold a candle to the man behind you. He laughs. He fucking _laughs_ at you and your hands curl into fists.

_Power, High Frequency, Photo, Unijunction, Quantijunction -_

He moves past you, bag slung over his shoulder. His _bare_ shoulder. "Come on," he says, "The base is this way." He strides purposefully down the embankment, sometimes putting a hand out into the loose rocks and dirt as he slides down the steep slope

_-NPN, PNP, FET, JFET, N-Channel JFET, P-Channel JFET-_

You follow along behind, continuing your litany as you watch the muscles of his back move and flex as he picks his way down the hill. He’s _beautiful_ and he could be yours if you were willing to… what? Have your heart broken? No thanks.

_-MOSFET, N-Channel JFET, P-Channel JFET, Switching._

It didn’t matter how attracted you were to him, or him to you. It didn’t matter how serious he might be. He had admitted it himself - he could be transferred tomorrow. Leaving you a distant, fond memory. You’d only know each other… what, a month? Maybe? A month, a couple of kisses, and one mind-blowing orgasm in his quarters did not a relationship make. And you knew you better than anyone, you knew exactly how far and how fast you could - strike that - you _would_ fall for him. If you even for a moment got your heart involved it would be gone before you could say 'Battle of Endor’. No. Having nothing was better than having _that_.

Mentally you pause, realizing you have run through your mental list of transistors to completion. Sighing, you move on to resistors. This was going to be a _long_ day.

+++

You hope he gets a sunburn.

Or maybe a rash from the ferns you’d walked through earlier. Something itchy that would annoy him as much as he was annoying you.

Even better, maybe one of those arachnids you’d heard about the size of a Wookie's hand - harmless but scary as hell - would drop down on him and freak him out. Hairy, creepy little legs on his bare skin.

You snort a short laugh and cover your smile when he glances over his shoulder at you. Pretending to ignore him, you lean back into a tree, sighing as you watch the last light of sun fade from the sky. You can hear the sounds of Poe lighting a fire and making a secure campsite for the night. You’d feel bad about making him do the work but this _was_ his wilderness survival certification and _technically_ that meant you could make him do anything.

 _Almost_ anything, you correct yourself and sigh.

He had successfully led the two of you down the embankment and through the woods, in the general direction of the base - past landmarks you both could find on the map. But having determined that, you also knew why the pilot had said 'good luck' when dropping you off because the bastard had dropped you at an elevation about 6,000 feet below the base’s lowest entrance - which meant the hike tomorrow was going to be an absolute _bitch_ on windswept rock with no cover. And if the sky today was any indication, a decent chance at rain. You’d crossed several miles today but even then you were pretty sure you were only just over halfway back.

And he had never, not even for a moment, put his shirt back on.

 _A sunburn AND a rash_ , you think uncharitably.

He’s still bare-chested, squatting by the fire. He has some small animal on a stick and you look at it suspiciously as you cross over to him, "So what’s for dinner?"

He shrugs. "One of those things that kind of looks like a squirrel with a little horn?"

"Merkrat."

"Yeah, those," he places dinner carefully on the embers then steps back, lifting his arms up into a long stretch that you _know_ is just to annoy you further but joke’s on him. You’re immune at this point. Instead you do the same, lifting your arms overhead and moaning slightly as you feel your muscles tug and release. You go to lower your arms and notice him watching you. Well, watching your _breasts_ to be specific. You drop your hands down, behind your head, cupping them behind your neck and you make a show of using them to twist your neck from side to side, knowing that the position has lifted your breasts high and tight inside your shirt - making the buttons strain.

He swallows and his lips part.

Grinning internally you think, _Two can play this game,_ and move your hands to the buttons. Slowly, you slip the first through its hole. Then the second. He should be able to see the black bra beneath now, made for support and not to be sexy. But judging by his face it might as well be the laciest most expensive lingerie Coruscant has to offer.

"Something the matter?" You ask, hands moving down to the next button. One more and it’ll be undone. One more and you can slip it from your shoulder, let it hang from your elbows.

"What-" it’s a croak. Like a young one on the cusp of adulthood. He clears his throat, "What are you doing?"

You pause with the shirt half off, then shrug, letting it drop to the ground. "I thought I would wash off."

" _Here?_ " The word sounds like it is forced out of him and your smile widens as you crouch down and grab your canteen. Unscrewing the top you raise it to your neck, slowly standing, eyes locked on his. "Don’t you dare-" he warns but you ignore him, titling it so a stream of water flows down your neck and across your chest, moving unerringly to the valley between your breasts. Lifting your other hand you wipe the water down, using the canteen to clear the accumulated dust and debris of the day. But you never take your eyes off his. Never, for even a moment, let him think that you are thinking of anything _other_ than him, his fingers following the trail of your own.

He chokes another sound, it might be your name or it might be nothing at all. You raise an eyebrow.

"That’s… that’s cheating."

"Oh? And walking around all day with your shirt off is playing fair?" You see his chest heave at your acknowledgment that he has had an effect on you. "You can touch me if you want," you say, echoing his own words. He takes a step forward, almost as if his body isn’t under his full control. Then he stops.

"Come here," he growls and you shake your head.

"No, you come here."

To go would be to give in, to accede to other’s demands, the other’s strictures. To acknowledge that you were willing to do what the other asked.

Neither of you move.

"Well then," he says after a minute.

"Well."

Dinner is silent, a few berries and the merkrat he had found. As the sun sets, the air begins to cool rapidly and you regret not putting your shirt back on earlier. He hadn’t and so you hadn’t. But now you were sitting entirely too close to the small fire, exhausted from a night of no sleep the day before and the travels of today, trying to figure out how you could put on more clothes without somehow losing something in this odd little battle of wills you were in.

About ten minutes later you hear a small sound, one you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t listening for it, but it’s there and you hide a smile. His teeth are chattering.

"You know," you say, breaking the silence as casually as possible. "You could come over here and cuddle up with me. For warmth of course."

"Is that part of the wilderness canoodling you were talking about earlier?" Oh yes, his teeth are chattering and you can hear his shaky breath.

You think for a minute and then sigh - your exhaustion winning out over everything else. You reach behind you and slip your hands into the sleeves of your shirt, shrugging it on and buttoning it to the neck. "For the love of the gods put your damn shirt on. You’re going to freeze tonight and I do _not_ want to have to explain how that happened."

You don’t watch him do it but you hear the chattering of his teeth taper off in the next few minutes so you assume he must have followed your instructions. You rub your hands on your arms and consider your options.

"Poe-" You say his name at the same moment he says yours and you both stop. He gestures at you to go first and you sigh. "It’s only going to get colder tonight. Either we need a bigger fire or we’re going to have to figure out some way to share warmth that _isn’t_ 'wilderness canoodling'."

He barks a short laugh and you smile back. You forget sometimes how much you actually like _him_ and not just his body. He raises an eyebrow at you. 'Truce then?"

It’s ridiculous really. The whole situation. Alone in the forrest with someone you want to do incredibly dirty things with - each of you trying to entice the other to make the first move. You can’t help the giggle that rises up inside you and see him smile in response. Then the small clearing echoes with the sounds of his deep laughter and your hysterical giggles until you’re holding your middle and wheezing.

"Come here," he says, opening his arms and you cross to him without a second thought, sinking to the ground with your back to his, cradled between his legs. He wraps his arms around you and you sink into the warmth of his body, the fire bright and hot in front of you. You lean your head back on his shoulder and feel the sharp stubble of his cheek caress your neck. "Go to sleep," he commands. The day catches up with you almost immediately and, with a small smile on your face, you do.


	16. Chapter 16

Poe wakes as he does every morning. One minute sound asleep, the next alert and mentally cataloguing what woke him up.

The first problem he faces is that it is not, in fact, morning - but still night and also fucking _cold_. The fire is low, almost out, so some time had definitely passed. But judging from the stars there is at least an hour left before daybreak.

The second problem is that his back is _killing_ him. He had leaned up against a fallen log in the evening, not intending to sleep there. There was no support for his lower back, there was a sharp rock digging into his ass, and his head had come to rest at a weird angle against her head as he fell asleep.

Which brought him to his third problem - the woman in his arms. A problem on more fronts than he cared to count, but at the moment his main issue was that to solve the other immediate problems he would need to disturb her. And he did _not_ want to do that.

She had turned slightly against him at some point, one of her hands coming up to curl around his bicep. The other was under one of his, their fingers entwined. She was snoring softly, her cheek pressed to his chest. He tightens his arms around her almost reflexively and she murmurs a little to herself and snuggles closer.

No, moving her was not an option.

Looking around the clearing he curses himself for placing the additional wood a whole five feet to his left, too far away for him to kick it into the fire. Similarly, his pack is laying next to it, too far for him to hook it with an ankle and maybe stuff it under his back. Maybe if had made friends with the little squirrel thing instead of eating it he could have convinced it to drag something over to him and he could…

Ok, now he was being silly. He was going to have to buckle down and let her go or risk permanent spinal injury. Sighing, he shifts her in his arms, ignoring the spasming muscles in his back as he twists and comes up on one knee, laying her on the ground as gently as possible. She grumbles, eyes fluttering, and he cups her cheek in one hand.

"Don’t wake up I’ll be right back," he reassures her.

"Poe…" she mumbles and he leans down and presses a quick kiss between her brows.

"Hush, go back to sleep."

He moves quickly, getting the fire back to full strength and then stacking a pile of sticks and small logs near where she’s sleeping, close enough he should be able to throw them in if it gets low again. He also grabs both their packs, removing a few objects and then gently slipping one under her head to act as a pillow. Stretching, he looks down at her and considers where he should lay his own pillow. He wants to be able to look at her face, feel her warm breath on him - but she’s facing the fire and he’s reluctant to put himself between her and the other heat source. So instead, he lowers himself behind her, curving his body around her back and tucking his own pack beneath his head. He puts one arm around her waist, hand questing up to catch her fingers but she yanks her hand away and mumbles something unintelligible. Smiling slightly he pulls her closer and shuts his eyes.

Then opens them again when she squirms, making short _harrumph_ noises. Her shoulder shoves into his chest and he considers waking her. He’s just about to, has lifted his hand to shake her, when she flops sideways, turning over and throwing _her_ arm around _his_ waist and tangles her legs with his. Her other hand is caught between them, fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt. He hears her sigh contentedly and nuzzle her nose to the base of his neck. A minute later, those same soft snores tell him she’s fallen back asleep - if she’d ever woken up at all.

He smiles to himself and presses his lips into her hair, closing his eyes and thinking. He had a new thing to add to his list of certainties:

1) She was attracted to him.  
2) She cared about him.  
3) She liked him.  
4) Someone had left her here on Ansion and she was terrified he would do the same and so as far as she was concerned they should only focus on point one and forget the other two.

Mentally he scratches that off his list and reconsiders. Then he sighs and corrects it to:

4) She was afraid.

That really encompassed an entire fleet of emotions and problems in and of itself. He turns the problem over in his head, examining it from all sides. She was interested in him but was worried about being hurt. Fair enough, so was he if he was being completely honest. He had a tendency to fall hard for people, had been told by his last partner that he went into the relationship too strong too fast. So, okay then, fair. But he was pretty sure that wasn’t what was happening here.

He mentally reviews their time together, trying to think about things from her perspective. There was the almost kiss, but he was certain she didn’t blame him for trying and he hadn’t pushed the issue at all. There was… there was that time she had apologized and he had had a brief but amazing mental fantasy about doing a multitude of things to her body - but there was no way she knew about that.

In fact, _she_ was the one who had said she cared about him first. _She_ was the one who had thrown herself into _his_ arms. If anyone was coming on strong here it was her. Which begged the utterly nonsensical question…

How do you convince someone to do something they already want to do?

+++

By the time the sun actually rises Poe is no closer to understanding a way forward than he was an hour earlier. But he was sure of one thing, he wanted this difficult ball of mechanical smarts and bad temper. A lot. And he was even more determined that it wouldn’t be for a single night, or a fling. He wanted to fall hard and fall fast with her and just… see what happened. Wake up next to her a few times, have dinner together, talk - see what happens.

But that was for another day. Today he was waking up with her and the only thing to explore was the eight or so miles back to base. And so, with great reluctance, he gently brushes a strand of hair off her cheek. "Hey, wake up." She doesn’t respond and he gently shakes her shoulder, "It’s morning."

"Unf," is the only response he gets which he translates mentally as ' _Oh Poe, I love being held in your arms please don’t make me leave_.'

"I know," he whispers and strokes his hand down her back, "but we need to move while there’s daylight if we want to get back to base today."

"Mnh," she grunts and he feels her pull him closer, tighter.Obviously this one meant ' _I would like to spend the next several nights sleeping with you so let’s not even worry about getting back today_.' He grins and moves his hand to her side, tickling the small exposed patch of skin lightly, "It’s-"

She moves so fast her forehead catches his chin, rocking it upwards and making his teeth clack together. He just misses biting off a chunk of his own tongue. A sharp squeaking noise emanates from her and she pushes him away, moving out of his arms and several feet away before he has time to blink. Rubbing his chin he raises an eyebrow at her, "Ow?"

"What?" She asks but it’s not coy, it’s confused. She blinks blearily around the clearing, first at him, then the fire. Her arms are drawn close to her sides and she gives her crouched stance a bemused once over. "What happened?"

"I was trying to wake you up and you attacked me." He props himself up on his elbows, "Which I think is unfair as I was being very nice and letting you sleep closest to the fire."

She looks at the dying embers and at him in turn, then shakes her head for a second. "Thanks?"

"You’re welcome." He peers at her then grins "You’re ticklish."

"What?" She’s getting up, moving away from him. "No I’m not."

He reviews the moment in his head and smiles as he heaves himself to his feet. She can say what she wants, but he knows what happened. She’s _incredibly_ ticklish and he files the information away for further fun later.

"Do you know what time it is?" she asks.

"Not long after sunup." He suppresses a grin when she cautiously moves towards him, picking up her pack and then moving out of arm’s reach. As though he might reach for her again. Fair, he was considering doing exactly that. She was just so… his fingers twitch as he searches for the word. He watches her stretch, watches the way her body moves beneath her clothes and bites back a groan.

This was going to be another long day.


	17. Chapter 17

When you break for lunch you lean against a rock and try to work out the kinks in your back. Sleeping on the ground was not comfortable and even with your pack as a pillow you still felt like you’d been put through a trash compactor.

The odd thing was, you don’t actually remember grabbing your pack. Or laying down at all. The last thing you remember is sitting down to share warmth in front of the fire with Poe. Had he done it then? Tucked a pack under your head and let you sleep closest to the fire?

The object of your thoughts is a few feet away, head tilted back as he drinks from his canteen. His throat moves as he swallows and you have to suppress a groan and swallow yourself as you watch. He really is handsome - something you rarely allow yourself to really think about. And with the way he’s standing the light highlights every line and shadow…

Oh Gods he’s looking at you - catching you staring. He raises an eyebrow and you blush and turn away, opening your pack and digging around for absolutely nothing. The air is still and humid, just as hot as it was the day before but overcast and cloudy. It’s an utterly miserable environment to be scrabbling about in the dirt and gravel

"I think it’s only a couple more miles," he comments and you nod at your pack in agreement. The trail was slow, half hiking and half rock-climbing. Sometimes having to boost or haul each other up the mountain. Your whole body aches from the exertion.

"Who did you piss off that this is our route back? This is literally the worst route." You’re grumbling more for your own sanity than any real need for a response but you should have known he wouldn’t have let it sit like that.

His eyebrows rise almost to his hairline. "Who did _I_ piss off? How do you know it wasn’t you?"

He’s right, in fact it was probably those goons in the auxiliary hangar who you had picked a fight with the day he went missing. Which, in your mind, makes it still _his_ fault. "This is bantha shit," you mutter.

"Excuse me?"

"This is bantha shit," you enunciate more clearly this time, swinging you pack back on. You were tired and cranky and your back hurt. He could live with a few curse words.

"Hey at least you have good company," he grins and you roll your eyes.

"It’s hot as hell, I smell like a teenage Wookie, and I would _murder_ for some caf right now." You sigh, "But you’re right, at least I have you here." Surprisingly you find you mean it.

"See," he points at you, "you have to find the bright side of things."

"I guess it could be worse," you muse. "It could be raining."

In another world it would be an omen - the sky opening up as it does. From clear, still air to pouring rain in the space of a heartbeat. It’s _loud_ too. Thundering down in sheets around the two of you on the side of the mountain. You stare at each other a moment and then you tilt your head back and feel the water stream down your face. When you look at him again his eyes are wide with shock, raindrops dripping from his long lashes.

"You had to say it," the look he gives you is utter exasperation. "You just had to say it."

"Look if you’re saying the _rain_ is my fault-"

"You just had to say 'It could be worse.' Had to tempt fate."His hair is starting to drip fat droplets and you start to giggle.

"What could possibly be funny?" He growls.

"You," you gasp, bending over with one hand covering your mouth. You’re trying to hold in the laughter but it is not working. His pout turns into a look of determination and he takes a menacing step forward, arm outstretched. "Oh no," you back away. "No sir. You are not-" You can’t stop laughing though.

"You couldn’t have wished for a cake? Or a puppy? Or a Maker-damned _speeder_ to get us off this rock?" He takes another step and you take an equal one backwards. "You had to summon this fucking _rain?_ "

"Stop right there," you point and continue to attempt to evade his grasp. He catches you for a second, fingers just barely grazing across your side. Your body spasms and an involuntary squeaking noise escapes you.

"Not ticklish, my ass," he mutters and takes another step toward you.

There’s nowhere to go but that doesn’t stop you from running, slipping through the gravel on the side of the mountain. You can’t hear him over the sound of the storm, can’t hear your own footsteps. The narrow path is slick, quickly becoming muddy and dangerous. You feel one of your feet slip, throw a hand out to stop your fall and feel his hand catch under your elbow, stopping your descent and urging you along. He’s seen what you hadn’t, a small outcrop of tumbled rocks, some of themas big as an X-Wing, leaning at angles against each other, creating shelter.

You burst into the dry space still laughing, shaking water from your hair and dropping your pack to the ground. You turn to face him, body brushing against his. The cave is narrow, barely more than an alcove. Big enough for three people to stand, which means it’s more than enough room for him to push you up against one wall and cover your mouth with his.

His mouth is hot on yours, a blinding point of heat amidst the cold and wet. You clutch his shoulders, alternatively pushing him away and trying to pull him closer. He catches your hands, pressing your wrists to the stone next to your head. "Tell me you don’t want this," he pleads, eyes boring into yours. "Tell me to let you go." You stay silent and he groans, leaning forward and licking your lips, "Fight me dammit."

You don’t, just close the short gap between you and pull his tongue into your mouth. He sighs into you, releasing your hands and cupping your face with his long fingers, tiling your head back so he can taste you. His mouth slanting across yours, learning you, marking you as his until you squirm and whimper. One of his hands draws down your neck, over the wet material of your shirt and you can feel every slight touch, every pressure. He traces your breasts and you gasp, pushing yourself into his hand, silently begging him until he gently pinches your nipple.

 _"Poe_ ," you gasp and he groans, deepening the kiss and doing it again, rolling the hard bud between two fingers. You’re on fire, burning for him. All thoughts, all reservations have fled. It’s just you and him and the heat of your bodies and his hands on you. Molding and shaping until you’re panting into his mouth, sighing and moaning and twisting beneath his hands.

"What do you want?" The words are low, rough, rumbling through you like the thunder outside. How is he making words right now? You can barely hold yourself upright.

"I want _you_ ," you gasp.

He moans softly, moving away from your lips to lick at the shell of your ear. "I’m not falling for that again. Be more specific."

Again? What does he mean again? You try to chase the thought but he nips at your earlobe and every conscious thought shatters. It’s just him and his mouth and his hands and you know _exactly_ what you want from him. You open your mouth to say it, feel the stubble on his cheek drag against the sensitive skin of your lips but he catches it before you can say anything - before you can even consider how to make words. His mouth hungrily claims yours and you grab his hand instead, sliding it down your stomach and pressing it beneath the band of your pants. His hand is warm against your cool skin and he doesn’t hesitate - just presses down and in and under and then he’s cupping his palm over you.

"Fucking _Maker_ you’re wet," he groans and you shift your stance, widening your legs to give him room. His fingers slip through your slick folds and you arch beneath his ministrations. He groans your name and sinks one long finger inside of you.

It’s like a switch is flipped. You begin to tear at his clothes, pulling at his shirt and unbuttoning it so you can run your hands along his chest, tracing the lines and contours and then moving down, sifting through the dark line of hair that leads into his waistband. He pulls his finger from inside you, using both hands to help. You tug on his belt, your mouths fused together as you get it undone, unbuttoning and unzipping and then his hand and yours tangle together and you’re both holding him - hard and hot.

His fingers are slick, coated with your wetness and he uses it to ease the glide of your hand on his skin. He guides you, showing you exactly how he wants to be held, exactly how much pressure, cupping his fingers over yours for a moment before reaching for you again, sliding inside your pants and thrusting two fingers inside of you. You whimper and he rips his mouth away with a low curse, pressing his forehead to yours.

"I want to-" he stops as you move your hand up his length, dipping down to gently trace beneath before taking him in your grip again. His fingers inside of you thrust upward, the heel of his hand pressing against you and you see stars.

"I don’t think that-" you start to say and he grunts, rubbing his hand in small circles and the words disappear.

"Stop thinking." It’s a tone of authority, one he uses with people under his command. You would never admit it but it makes your knees go weak and he covers your mouth with his again. You clear your thoughts and concentrate on the feel of him against you, the slide of his flesh in your hand, the way he’s moving inside of you. You feel your body tightening, searching for your peak. You move your hand faster on him and his hips are thrusting to meet you. You’re out of synch, but that only makes it all better. The frantic movements, the soft pants of the air, your bodies pressed to each other and your tongues entwined.

He cups your head in his free hand, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. "Come for me beautiful," he whispers against your lips.

You shake your head, "Not without you."

He pauses, his dark eyes searching yours. His fingers pull out and you mourn their loss for only a moment because they glide up and now he’s focusing all of his attention on that one spot. You cry out his name, hand still moving against him. You close your eyes against the sensation but his whispered plea stops you. "No, open your eyes. Look at me."

You meet his gaze, his brown eyes boring into yours. You see a curse form on his lips, see his brows draw together, his jaw tightening. His hips are jerking sharp against you - his fingers furiously circling and when you hear it - hear the low murmur of your name - you come apart.

It’s intense - feeling the shudders of pleasure wrack your body while his eyes never leave yours. As thought a connection is formed in the intimacy and pleasure of that moment. A half-second later you see the same release come over him, feel him flood hot and sticky into your palm. Your bodies are both shaking, little spasms as the pleasure continues to work its way through your systems.

When your brain is working again. When you can think of anything other than his eyes and his hands and the feeling of having just been devastated. When you can make words again you start to say, "That was…"

He leans forward and cuts you off, kissing you, nose nuzzling yours a moment before pulling back. "Wonderful," he finishes.

You can’t help but smile back and agree, "Wonderful."


	18. Chapter 18

They wait out the worst of the storm in their small alcove. After they set their clothing back to rights he twists slightly so they’re both leaning a shoulder against the rock wall and he gathers her close. And then they kiss. 

Soft kisses. Gentle kisses. Just the barest brush of lips against each other. Arms around each other’s waists, breath mingling together. Occasionally one of them will wander, pressing light touches on the other’s face or jaw, nuzzle noses for a moment or just lean their foreheads together. But like two magnets their lips always seem to find each other.

When he hears the rain begin to let up Poe regretfully pulls away just slightly. "We should-"

She makes a small sound of distress, her eyebrows pulling together. "No."

He huffs a short laugh, "We need to -"

"No," she says again, this time more forcefully. "If we move we’ll have to talk and if we talk we’re going to fight." She pulls him closer, pressing her forehead to his. "I’m not ready to fight with you yet. So can we just… not? For a few more minutes?"

"What would we fight about?" The question is legitimate. He can’t imagine fighting with her at all, ever. Not with this bones-deep satisfaction snaking through him.

"Poe. Please." She chides.

"I like it better when you say that the other way."

" _Poe_."

He looks at her face, really looks at it. He notices her eyes are squeezed shut, her forehead furrowed. Whatever it is she thinks is going to happen she’s legitimately upset by it. So he does as she asks and just gathers her closer, pressing his lips to hers and relishing the soft _mm_ ing noise she makes.

But regardless of what she wants, the rain continues to let up until the only water falling is dripping over the edge of the rock overhang. He strokes his hands down her back and presses a kiss to her cheek, the corner of her eye, and then her nose. "There’s nothing for food on this damn mountain. If we don’t get back tonight you’ll have to put up with hungry Poe and I can tell you from experience he’s no fun."

She snorts a short laugh and pulls away, looking up at him. One corner of her mouth is tilted up and he can’t help but duck down and give it a short kiss. As he pulls away she takes a small step backwards, putting what little space is available in their alcove between them. She takes a deep breath, obviously steadying herself. That was not a good sign.

"Poe," that tone wasn’t a good sign either. He steels himself. "This wasn’t… I’m still not…" He must look confused because she pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "Fuck. This doesn’t change-"

Suddenly it clicks and he feels his jaw drop. "Are you kidding me right now?"

"Poe…"

"No," he interrupts her. "Don’t 'Poe' me - not in that tone. Not after we…" He swallows, "Don’t you dare." She doesn’t, just stares at him and he wishes there was something nearby he could punch. Or fly. Or anything at all really as long as it means not having this conversation. Again.

He gives a sharp shake of his head and grabs his pack from the ground, heading back along the trail. He doesn’t wait for her. At the moment he could not care less if she followed along or not. The first meters feet go by with only his own thoughts for company before he hears her steps behind him.

Neither of them says a word.

It’s just after sundown when they see the faint red lights that mark the lowest entrance back to the base. Two guards check their credentials before waving them into the long tunnel that will take them to a maintenance elevator and back to the main floors. The guards had asked how the training had gone and Poe’s snapped "Fine," had forestalled any further questions. She was still quiet, trailing a foot or so behind him.

In the elevator she breaks the silence. "We need to figure out how to-"

He drops his pack to the floor, turning and pushing her against the metal grating of the wall and covering her mouth with his. His hand cups her jaw, holding her still but she doesn’t resist it. Instead she wraps her arms around him and returns the kiss with equal fervor.

Jerking himself away he steps back, running his fingers through his hair. "I told you what I wanted. I told you-" he swallows and looks at her, "I can’t do _this_." He gestures between the two of them and she blushes.

"This is all I have-" she starts but he’s shaking his head before she even finishes.

"It’s all you’re willing to give. But you have more. And I’m a greedy selfish bastard and I want it all." The elevator is slowing, the ticking of passing floors slowing down as they move through storage levels. He picks up his pack again. "You know where I am if you decide to stop being afraid."

When the doors open he doesn’t look back.

+++

He slept like shit.

If it wasn’t for BB-8 bumping his bed repeatedly he would have slept through his alarm. He stares into his quarters blearily, and groans. His head is pounding and every time he blinks his eyes feel gritty and awful, like he just got back from a week-long stint on Jakku.

Stumbling out of his quarters he gives a stiff nod to the passing crew and tries to shake a sense of alertness back into himself. BB-8 blinks up at him worriedly and he tries to reassure the droid. "I’ll be better after breakfast little buddy. Promise."

Better was a relative term it turns out. After a full breakfast and some conversation he no longer felt like he had drowned himself in a cask of Ergesh Rum, but was aware enough to know that he was not fit to fly. At his morning briefing with the flight crews, he didn’t put himself in the roster.

And so, when the time came for his daily check-in with the Chief Mechanic on fleet status Poe was not in the best of moods to start with. Add to that the fact that it was with _her_ \- and all the baggage that came with it being _her_ \- and he was ready to call it quits for the day and just go back to bed. He could probably swing it - a medical exemption. It would only be his second ever. The first had been forced on him by his then-Commander after he had come down with Tyrellian flu.

Caught reminiscing, he doesn’t realize that she’s approaching until she’s already there, a few feet away, near his X-Wing and holding a data pad like it’s a shield.

"Poe…" she starts to say but he cuts her off.

"I think maybe we should stick to a few more formalities on the flightdeck Chief."

She swallows and meets his eyes and he regrets his words. It had been for his own sanity, the idea of hearing her call him by his name here - when he knew exactly what it sounded like to hear her say his name while she came around his fingers - it was too much for him today.

Everything was too much for him today.

"Of course Commander," she doesn’t stumble. Doesn’t argue with him. Just acedes to the request and starts down the list of repairs. The base of his skull is throbbing and he barely listens, giving curt responses when strictly necessary and nodding along otherwise.

"Black One is nearly fit for service," she says as she’s wrapping up. "We need to run a couple more diagnostics and I’m waiting for a replacement panel for the starboard engine but after that - it should be ready for you to fly it to pieces again." She gives him a hesitant smile.

"Good," he sighs, "I don’t belong on the ground."

She flinches from him and he barely catches it. Wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t so attuned to her every movement. He curses. "That’s not what I meant."

"It’s okay," she says, "I get it. Must be terrible to be stuck down here."

"Chief," but she cuts him off again.

"No, _really_ ," she stresses it and gives him a small, sad smile. "Whatever else, I _do_ want you to be happy. And there’s not much down here to make that happen is there?"

"I’m still hoping there might be," it was the best he could offer.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my lovely beta reader and editor Jenneviere who gets to make a guest appearance in this chapter.

The worst thing about being deeply, terribly unhappy was knowing without any doubt that it was entirely your own doing.

You’d been back at the base for three days. Three days of carefully avoiding each other, brief comments, and professional conversations. Three days of fighting with yourself every night and yes okay maybe there was crying involved too but that didn’t mean anything. You always cry when you’re trying to get your life together. It wasn’t because you were sad or regretful or felt you had made a wrong decision - no matter what you said to yourself in the dark of night.

The clamor of the dining hall goes on around you, the clink of utensils and the boisterous conversations. You stare into your dinner, hoping that the noodles might re-arrange themselves into some sort of answer. What was it the fortune tellers on Naboo did? They said something to make their magics work.

"Umm, star light, star bright?"

The noodles remain largely impassive and you sigh, resting your cheek on one hand and stare at nothing. Today had _sucked_. And tomorrow was going to be just awful. You _missed_ him, which was something you had never expected. You missed his smile and his teasing and the way his face lit up when he saw you.

Sighing again you hear laughter to your left. _Well at least someone is having a good time_ , you grouse to yourself. Then you hear another laugh, deeper. One you instantly recognize. Eye darting to the side you see him, the object of your thoughts. He’s sitting entirely too close to a beautiful woman with hair the colors of a sunset and she’s got one hand resting on his arm.

For the first time in your life you realize what it would take to make you want to kill someone. He smiles and leans towards her, saying something that makes her grin and stroke his arm in response and you realize that actually, you could murder _two_ people and no court in the Alliance would convict you. Not with the way they’re sitting so close together and yes, okay, there’s other people there too. It’s not like they’re alone and laughing and flirting and being all…

You groan and tear your eyes away. They are none of your business. He’d given you a chance. Several in fact. And you had told him no every time. He was well within his rights to pursue whatever gorgeous beings he’d like.

You just wished he’d have waited a little longer to do it. That was all.

Your dinner is being no more hospitable than before, revealing no secrets . Sighing heavily, you push it away and bury your face in your hands.

"Hey," you hear and jerk your head up as a beautiful woman slips into the seat across from you. Not just any beautiful woman, _the_ beautiful woman. The one who had had Commander Dameron wrapped around her perfectly perfect little pinkie. You glance over quickly but he’s gone, the place where they had been empty.

She smiles, "Are you okay?"

Oh Gods, she’s pretty and _nice_? No. This is a ruse. You can’t hate her if she’s genuinely nice. Well, you _can_ , but you’d feel bad about it.

"I’m fine," you mutter but her raised eyebrow and glance at your slouched form and the tray of food pushed haphazardously away from you tells you she doesn’t believe you.

You pull yourself up straighter, "I’m fine. Just… tired."

"Seems to be a lot of that going around today," she comments and taps her fingers on the table. "I was just talking with Commander Dameron and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days."

"Oh?" You try to keep the interest out of your voice. Why is this stranger talking to you about Poe? Had he… mentioned you? "Did he say why?"

"No," she says and your shoulders sag. "But he also couldn’t keep his eyes off you." Your eyes fly to hers but she is carefully examining one of her nails. "I was trying to flirt but it’s hard when the person you’re talking to is paying zero attention."

"Sorry about that," you say and she shrugs.

"It’s not your fault." She picks the spoon up from your tray and balances it on its end, holding it gently with one finger. "If I had someone like that, who looked at me like that, I certainly wouldn’t be here alone."

"I’m not alone," you counter and she grins.

"True," she drops the spoon and holds a hand out. "I’m Jenneviere." You take the hand and introduce yourself, noting that even her _name_ is beautiful. After the pleasantries are over she props her chin on her fingertips, "So, are you going to do anything about that?"

"About what?"

"About that pretty pilot who is head over heels for you."

You blush and look away from her. "I… I don’t know. I don’t think so."

"Then cut him loose," she says and your eyes fly back to hers. "Either fish or cut bait, as my mom used to say. Let him find someone else."

"Someone like you?" You ask, ready to hate her again.

"Maybe," she shrugs. "But I’m not particularly interested in nursing him through getting over _you_ either."

Fair. But you’re thinking about what she said. You don’t know _what_ you want from Poe Dameron, but you do know the thought of him with someone else makes you murderous. "Have you," you look up at this woman, this perfect stranger. "Do you date much? On base?"

She moves her shoulders in what might be a shrug but it seems to contain worlds more to it. "Here and there. Why do you ask?"

"How do you…" you struggle to find the words and finally decide to just blurt it out. "How do you deal with them leaving?"

"Like, on missions?"

"That and… you know transfers and just… leaving."

She tilts her head at you and cocks an eyebrow. Several seconds pass and you start to squirm before you hear her sigh. "You don’t."

"What?"

"You don’t," she says again and then crosses her arms on the table. "You can’t control what someone else does. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a Resistance base or a bar on Coruscant. If someone is going to leave you they will." She smiles, "And if they want to find a way to be with you they’ll do that too."

Was it as simple as that?

Jenneviere continues, "Commander Dameron strikes me as the kind of man who would move heaven and earth to be with the right person."

"Yeah," you mutter. "I think he would."

You had gotten so caught up in what other people had done, had been doing to you your whole life, that you hadn’t really given much clear thought to _this_ person. Others had been more than willing to accept your terms - no commitments, no attachments - without a word of protest. But Poe… Poe had been different. In fact, as you think over the last few weeks, you realize the only times he had ever walked away from you were when you forced him. And he had let you. Let you take your time, being clear about what he wanted. Even after everything that happened on the survival training he had… Gods he had held you and kissed you and given you the room you asked for to make your own decisions.

He had cleared a path for you in so many ways - why were you still so afraid?

And so you think, very hard. Not about if _someone_ would leave you - you already knew the answer to that. But if _Poe Dameron,_ Poe "Best Pilot in the Resistance" Dameron, Poe "So Annoying You Could Bite Him" Dameron, the man who made you laugh and kissed you like you were the last woman in the galaxy. Would Poe Dameron leave you when things got hard?

And it turns out you already knew the answer to that as well.

"I think," you say slowly, "I think maybe I’ve been very very stupid."

She lifts one shoulder, "Eh, it happens to the best of us."

"No," you shake your head, "like _really_ stupid. And I’m not sure I can fix it."

"Is it about Commander Dameron?" You nod and she snorts, "Trust me, he’ll forgive you for anything."

"This is a pretty big thing."

"Did you destroy his droid?"

Your eyes narrow, "No, but I’ve considered it."

"Are you actually a First Order spy?"

You jerk your head her direction. "What? No."

"Well," she says, "from what little I know of him I think those are the only two things he’d find unforgivable."

You nod slowly to yourself, "You know what Jenneviere? I think I’m ready to jump." Her brow furrows with a question and you wave it off. "I’m ready to fish."

"Ah," she leans over, a conspiratorial grin on her face. "So what are you going to do?"


	20. Chapter 20

Poe slumped at his desk, only half listening to the two pilots arguing next to him over who should get to move to day shift. He didn’t actually have a strong opinion on that matter - he’s more than happy to let them squabble it out amongst themselves.

Instead he tries to sort through his mix of emotions. Being here on the base with her was torture. And he didn’t know how long he was going to be able to give her to come to her senses. Black One was fixed but he had kept himself off the roster, worried that his preoccupation would cause him to fly poorly and harm himself. Or worse, put one of his squadron in danger. It wasn’t something he could go on doing, but at the moment it was the only thing he could think of to keep his sanity intact.

"Well huh." Captain Ahearn’s voice cut through Poe’s silent contemplation and he turned to look at him. Ahearn was staring past Poe, toward the door. Turning to follow the man’s gaze, Poe felt his jaw drop and he froze in place.

She was here. At the door to the pilot’s ready room. _Here_ , a place that even the mention of it made her shudder. _Here,_ where her only good excuse to be was to speak with someone about their ship but it couldn’t be for that because she was wearing…

Blue. The color of the sky over Yavin IV. Had he ever told her it was his favorite color? Or had she just guessed? The fabric wraps around her breasts and then fell to the floor in a long skirt. It looked like it was all of one piece but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how. It was the furthest thing imaginable from her basic mechanic’s jumpsuit. The furthest thing from plain and serviceable. It clearly stated that she was not here on official business.

"Yours?" Ahearn asks.

"Yes." The word is out before he realizes it. But then he fully hears the question, what his eyes couldn’t process until now. His scarf. His lucky scarf. The one he had used to bandage her injured arm. She has it wrapped in her hair, the ends trailing over one bare shoulder. Instantly recognizable to anyone as belonging to him.

Her eyes are locked on his and he catches a flash of black near the ground as she begins to move. He can’t help the small smile. Work boots. She’s still wearing her work boots. The sight of it jolts him out of his trance and he realizes his mistake. She was here. Dressed up. Wearing his scarf. Not taking her eyes off him as she made her way across the room. Uncertainty written across her face. She was stating as clearly as if she was carrying a sign that she was here for _him_ and he was _letting_ her. Letting her make the journey on her own. Leaving her waiting and wondering.

He’s across the room in three long strides. Half the time it had taken her. Meeting her halfway and cupping her neck in one hand, her waist in the other and dropping a kiss to her lips. Feeling her hands clench against his back.

He pulls away suddenly, "You _are_ here to see me right?"

She snorts, smiling and pulling him closer. "Who else?"

"Just checking." And that out of the way he can kiss her again. Pull her bottom lip into his mouth, feel the smooth skin of her exposed back, slip his fingers into the knot of his scarf and tilt her head just so.

" _Ahem_."

Poe ignores it. There is no one in the room that outranks him and whoever it is can wait for him to get his fill of this woman. She twines her arms around his neck and he holds her as close as he can, as close as the universe will let him. Their very _atoms_ touching.

 _"Ahem._ " This time it is more forceful and he opens one eye to see who would dare to interrupt this moment. Then he jumps, jerking his head and snapping one hand to his forehead. "Colonel Nexler."

The woman in his arms, this amazing woman who had faced his squad without hesitation, freezes, then goes bright red. He sees her face scrunch and she bites her lip before turning to face the Colonel. She grips her skirts in both hands, almost like she’s about to curtsy, then mirrors his salute. "Ma’am."

"Is the ready room really the appropriate place for this?" The Colonel asks.

"No ma’am," they chime in unison.

"Then perhaps you should go somewhere else."

His eyes dart to meet the object of his fantasies and he sees her lips twitch as she slips her hand into his. "Yes ma’am," she says and he can’t help but grin as she starts to back out of the room.

"Commander Dameron?"

Poe quickly turns back to the Colonel, back ramrod straight. "Yes ma’am?"

"Try to avoid visible bruises this time."

Now it’s his turn to blush and he nods as he follows the blue skirts into the hallway.

They stop and stare at each other as the doors swish closed. She drops his hand and presses her palms to her face. "Oh dear gods," she moans.

Suddenly awkward he scratches his neck, "That… could have gone better."

"It could have… Poe that is…" she opens her mouth but no more words come out. Finally she settles on laughing and he joins in, stepping closer and slipping his hand around her waist.

"At least we’re out of that room," she mutters as he begins to pull her closer and he freezes.

"What did they tell you goes _on_ in there?"

She makes a small moue of disgust, "Ugh, let’s not talk about that." Her eyes light up and she smiles up at him brightly, "Come on, I have… I have something for you. For us."

He kisses her then, a quick peck before stepping away and interlocking his fingers and hers. If he doesn’t put distance between them things were going to happen. And those things happening in the hallway was only about ten percent better than them happening in the ready room. "Lead the way."

He expects her to take him to her quarters. Or his quarters. Somewhere with a bed at least. After the last few weeks he assumed she was as eager to be naked with him as he was with her. But she leads him to the Commons instead. A large open area filled with potted gardens, a couple of fountains, and some gaming tables. One of the Dejarik games has a table pulled next to it with a plate of small cheeses, fruit, and what even looks like sweets.

She stops next to it and pauses, looking at the table then back at him. "I thought we might, you know, try having a date."

When he doesn’t say anything, just looks at her and the table in befuddlement, she continues. "We’ve done everything upside down and I just wanted to spend some time with you where we’re not…" she trails off and blushes.

He had thought that her coming to the ready room was brave but as he looks at the tables he realizes that this is even more so. She was publicly claiming him, not just inviting him on a date but doing so in the most exposed and obvious place they could possibly go. He had asked for all of her and she was giving it - and making sure everyone knew it. This wasn’t a statement made in shadows, a promise she might try to slip out of later. This was an _announcement_.

He looks at the small spread, then at her, then at the table again. "Wait right here."


	21. Chapter 21

That… was not what you expected. He disappears across the room and you sink down onto the bench, confused. Idly, you nab a cracker from the edge of the plate, biting into it and looking around. A few tables over you see Jenneviere talking with a lanky man with dark hair. She winks at you and you wave back then scan to see if you can see where Poe went.

Had something gone wrong? Did you say something that… no that wasn’t it. You knew in your bones he was happy with the idea of the date. Surprised, yes - but also happy. So what could be the reason-

"I thought maybe-"

You yelp, almost jumping out of your seat. He’s behind you, holding a bottle of sun berry wine and two glasses. He looks startled for a moment then tilts his head at you, "A little high-strung are we?"

You press a hand to your chest and smile as he sits across from you. "I’m just…"

"Nervous?" He offers, pouring you a glass and popping a piece of cheese in his mouth.

You shake your head, "No, just… tense."

"Isn’t that just another word for nervous?" He asks and flips on the Dejarik table. Small holographic monsters leap to life between you. Before you can answer he continues, "Why are you tense?"

You take a drink of wine, the dark liquid giving you both warmth and a bit of courage. Some honesty as well. "This is my first date."

He freezes. "Ever?"

You think for a moment, "I think so. My first actual date not just… you know…"

"How is that possible, you’ve got to be at least-"

"I’d think really hard before you finish that sentence," you break in.

"-Not a day over much much younger than me. So very young. In fact I feel like maybe this is not appropriate for us. Are you even old enough to drink?"

You smile at him and take a berry off the tray. "Better."

He grins at you then his face goes serious, "When you said you didn’t get involved with people here, I didn’t realize you meant you _really_ didn’t get involved."

You shrug and look over his shoulder, "Well, I mean, I’ve had people… in my life. But they didn’t want to do these kinds of things."

You swear you hear him growl and your eyes fly back to his. "Tell me who they are."

"What? Who?"

"Whoever it is that has made your face look like that," the words are harsh, low. His hands are white where they are gripping the edge of the table and you feel a warmth steal over you that has nothing to do with the wine. Reaching out you gently trace over one of the knuckles.

"I would much rather make new memories - not dwell on old ones." He relaxes at your words, tension melting off of him. He turns his attention down to the table and sets the small counter that will determine the gameplay.

"You go first," he announces and you move quickly, sending your first piece across the board.

He’s a more reckless player than you, and despite your protests and pouting seems to have no compunction with sending his pieces to eat yours. Or tear them limb from limb. Even your saddest eyes and a lip quiver just make him laugh and reach over to press his thumb to your mouth.

"Stop that or I’ll kiss you right here," he warns.

"Promise?"

He stills, hands hovering over the board and slowly lifts his eyes to meet yours. You blush. The word had just slipped out - it was the wine’s fault, surely. He swallows and looks at you, then looks around the Commons which was quickly filling with more and more people as the day shift filtered through for their evening. Finally he raises an eyebrow at you. "You’re just trying to distract me so you can win. But it won’t work, I have excellent concentration skills."

You giggle and he smiles at you in return. Then proceeds to finish demolishing you until all of your pieces are gone. Then he leans back and makes himself a small sandwich out of crackers and fruit, smugness just radiating off of him.

"Best two out of three?" You offer.

He grins and resets the board. "How about we make it interesting?"

"How so?"

"If I win, you have to tell me why you’re so pilot-averse," you open your mouth but he cuts you off, " _and_ why you look so uncomfortable in the ready room."

You frown at him, thinking. He’s hiding a grin and taking a sip of his wine, obviously pleased with himself. "Ok, but if I win we go to your quarters and you let me do whatever I want to you."

Honestly, you’d meant to say ' _with_ you', really you had. That other phrase had just… stumbled out. But he jerks in his seat, wine spilling down his shirt.

"What did you- did you…?"

You blush then hesitate. After everything you didn’t want him to think that you were only after him for his body. "Sorry, no I’ll pick something else-"

"Oh no," he cuts you off, watching the game counter out of the corner of his eye. When it sets he stares at you, and moves his first piece. "It’s a bet."

There is less talking in this game, less banter. You’re both concentrating intently. He moves with more caution and you take more risks. The plate of food sits untouched and after about twenty minutes you begin to see it.

He’s got you cornered. The last piece you had taken had been holding down part of the board - but with it gone he was perfectly positioned to end the game in less than five moves. His eyes meet yours and you give him a small half smile. It was a fair win.

Reaching forward he slides his thumb along his side of the game and you watch the pieces move. Not in the way you expected - the way to a win. But instead exposing himself to attacks from several angles. He’s given you a clear path to victory. Thrown his own away.

You look up at him again through your eyelashes. He’s staring at the board now, not meeting your eyes. You could do the same, move your piece to give him the advantage back. He’s letting you make the decision, letting you decide what you want to do. Once again, he’s giving you all the power.

You’re ruthless. Three moves take two of his pieces, the figures marching across the board like an Imperial army. It’s an absolute slaughter. He doesn’t say a word through any of this, keeps his eyes on the board the entire time. You watch him, watch as one piece tears the arm from another securing your victory and see him take a deep, steadying breath.

"Well," you say, when the win is official, tally marks next to the board proclaiming you the champion. He finally meets your eyes and you feel your whole body quiver. No one has _ever_ looked at you like that. His face is intense, his hands gripping the edge of the table. It’s a moment that deserves silence. A moment to communicate with your eyes and bodies.

So of course you don’t. Of course you blurt out, "Pay up," without a moment’s thought. But it must be the right thing because tension melts off of him and you’re left with that easy smile, that cocked eyebrow. He licks his lower lip and stands, holding his hand out to you.

You take it.


	22. Chapter 22

She can’t seem to stop giggling. Not in the Commons when he all but drags her out, nor in the hallway where they ran into several people who all raised eyebrows at the two of them. He blushes, the redness covering his cheeks and down his neck under the collar of his shirt. That only seems to make her giggle harder and he turns to look back at her - trying to tell her with a frown that the laughter is entirely inappropriate under the circumstances. But he also can’t hide his smile, and it just seems to make her giggle harder until he finally has her at his quarters and can punch in the code and pull her inside.

She walks past him and he drops her hand, watching her as she turns slowly in the middle of the small room. He tries to see it through her eyes - data pads are strewn across his desk. There’s a pair of boots sitting next to the small sink, the floor a mess of shirts and socks. In the closet, his flight suit sits pristine, the solitary occupant of the space. The bed is, to no one’s surprise, unmade.

She raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t say anything but then again she doesn’t have to. If he had known he was going to have company he’d have made some effort to make it look presentable. He starts to pick up the clothes from the floor but her hand on his arm stops him. She steps towards him and he drops the socks he’s holding, pulling her closer, lowering his mouth to hers.

His hands shift down to cup and lift her, and he groans at the way her body fits to his. He quickly moves upwards, searching for the buttons or zipper or tie or _what the hell is holding this dress on?_

She’s already got his shirt undone, pushing it over his shoulders and her mouth is on his chest and he shuts his eyes and gasps in air. The tips of her fingers are tracing up his back, her tongue circling his nipple and she mutters something about his lips but he’s not paying attention because _how the hell does this dress work?_

He pushes her away, setting her an arm’s length distance as he scans her from head to toe. "Take off your dress."

She raises an eyebrow at him, "Poe…"

"I’ve never seen you," his eyes scan her again and he groans. "I want to see you. Take off your dress," he swallows hard, "please."

She looks at him, lips parted, and her eyes never leave his when she reaches behind her and pulls on something and then shrugs. And just like that, the fabric falls to her waist. She waits a moment before tucking her thumbs at her waist and pushing and then she’s beautifully, wonderfully _naked_ in front of him. Every line and curve he’d felt but not seen, imagined but not felt. All of her bare for him.

Except for the boots.

He bites his lip and her gaze follows his to the floor and she squeezes her eyes shut, wincing. "Let me-" she starts to say but he stops her, gathering her into his arms and kissing her again. Letting his hands roam over what feels like miles of soft skin. He backs her up until she is sitting on the edge of his bed, then drops to one knee in front of her. Slowly, almost reverently, he pulls at the lace of one boot. His shoulder is nearly touching her leg and he only has to turn a few inches to press a soft kiss to her knee. Her thighs part, just slightly and he groans, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to her as he pulls the boot off.

Turning his attention to the other shoe he dispatches with it more quickly, tossing it Maker only knew where across the room. Lifting her foot, he presses a small kiss to her ankle, the same one he had first caressed however many nights ago. His favorite ankle. From there he moves upwards, tracing along her skin with his tongue and fingertips. He feels her fingers slide into his hair, her nails raking against his scalp and he moans. He nips the delicate skin of her inner thigh and feels her jump, her thighs parting even more.

He glances up at her and sees her wet her lips with her tongue, her eyes watching him intently. With deliberate slowness, he moves her leg up and over his shoulder. He doesn’t look, not yet. Doesn’t bury his face in her. Instead he looks in her eyes.

"May I?"

She takes a shaky breath, it does absolutely _lovely_ things to her breasts, and then nods. He smiles in return and wraps his arm around her thigh, the one on his shoulder, pulling her wide so he can look at all of her.

"You’re beautiful," he whispers and feels her fingers tighten in his hair. He makes a low humming noise then leans forward, pressing his lips to her core. She makes a high pitched noise, almost a squeak, and arches into him. His tongue parts her, searching out her taste, and he groans when he feels just how wet she is.

He takes his time. He’s waited weeks, months, a lifetime to get his hands on her and he feels no need to rush. His tongue traces every curve, every crevice. Learning what makes her breath hitch and the muscles of her thighs tense. He adds his fingers after a few minutes, sliding one inside of her and then moving his tongue upwards to caress the small bundle of nerves that make her nearly pull his hair out.

"Poe," she gasps, everything in him draws tight at the sound. " _Poe_ ," she says again, more forcefully this time and he lifts his head to look at her. Raising one eyebrow he stares into her eyes as he licks the inside of her thigh.

"Yes?"

"Please, I want you with me." Her chest is heaving, lips parted, she tugs on his hair and he leans into it for a moment before lifting himself away from her. He toes off his boots and his hands go to his pants. But she sits up, hands tangling with his, and as soon as he is bare she leans forward and takes him deep into her mouth.

" _Fuck_ ," he curses and cups his hands around her jaw, pushing her away with possibly more force than was strictly necessary. She lets him go, letting him slide from her mouth, before looking at him with a concerned face. He leans down and covers her mouth with his, "If you do that I’m not going to last."

She smiles in return, a small satisfied thing and he nips her bottom lip and pushes her back onto the bed. Settling between her thighs he captures her lips in another kiss, slowly sliding his length between her slick folds.

"Poe," she gasps and he reaches down to set himself, feels her soft, wet heat envelop just the tip of him. Her moans are music he will never grow tired of hearing.

Hovering over her he hesitates, eyes going to the comm panel by the door. She squirms beneath him. "What are you doing?"

"I’m waiting to see if we get interrupted again," he grumbles and feels her laugh beneath him. Then she wraps her legs around his waist and he sinks inside of her and _Maker_ she felt good. She felt more than good, she was _perfect_.

She must have felt the same because she makes a choked, gasping noise and then her muscles clench around him. He has to shut his eyes against the sensations, reaching down to lift one of her thighs just a little higher and then he begins to thrust.

Every time he pushes inside her she makes a small noise, almost imperceptible, but it’s music to his ears and as he thrusts faster it gets louder. He can feel the tingles creeping up his spine, the back of his skull tightening. She’s crying out beneath him and he grits his teeth, trying to hold on. Unwilling to come without her.

_Ace, Alpha, Beta, Black, fuck…_

Gritting his teeth he tries again, feels her shift under him and he makes room for her hand. Feels the brush of her fingers against him as she finds her own pleasure. He’s not going to last long, needs to distract himself.

_Black, Blade, Blue, Bolt…_

Her muscles are clenching tighter around him, her face tilted up to the ceiling. She calls his name, fingers digging into his back so hard her nails are going to leave marks but he doesn’t care because that last shuddering cry means he can let go of his control. He does, rocking his hips into hers. When he comes her name is torn from his lips like a prayer.

If he were more of a gentleman he might have offered her sweet words and a gentle caress, but as it was he collapses on top of her with a grunt, completely drained of everything. After a moment she wiggles beneath him and he sighs and rolls over. They lay side by side, chests heaving. He reaches over and entwines the fingers of one hand with hers, turning his head to look at her. She’s staring at the ceiling but turns to him when he does. "Hey there."

She smiles, "Hey yourself."

- _chirp_ -

His jaw drops and he sees her eyes go wide. Then she bites her lip. He hears a snort come out of her and glares before acknowledging the comm panel. "What?"

- _Commander Dameron this is Ops._ -

"Yes Ops?" Her shoulders are shaking from suppressing her laughter and she has one hand clapped across her mouth to muffle the noise.

- _Please come to Admin._ -

He squeezes the hand he is holding hard but that only makes her turn away from him, letting his hand go and burying her face into a pillow. It does almost nothing to muffle the noise she’s making.

"I’ll be right there," he says. He waits for the chirp that means the line has gone dead then launches himself at her, one hand reaching over to pull her toward him and his mouth going to her shoulder to bite down. _Hard_.

"It’s not funny," he mumbles.

"Oh Gods above it’s _so_ funny," she counters and he bites her again, enjoying the way her body squirms against his in reaction. Against all odds he can feel himself stirring to life. Like he was sixteen again. Groaning he heaves himself away, swiping his pants from the floor and quickly pulling them on. He purposefully doesn’t look at the bed. If he sees her there, spread out and naked and still sweaty from their lovemaking he wasn’t going to leave. He puts his shirt on without looking, then sits to pull on his boots.

The bed shifts behind him and he bites back a curse when he feels her hands run up his back, her tongue flicking just behind his ear. "Come back soon?"

He turns quickly, catching her waist and pulling her across his lap. She’s naked and laughing and he savors the moment when he dips his head down to taste her. "I will be back as soon as I can."

As the doors slide shut behind him he cards his fingers through his hair. He thinks for a moment then turns toward the Hangar - away from Admin. He had a stop to make first.


	23. Chapter 23

He’s only gone about five minutes when the doors slide open again. You sit up and smile at him, then notice the droid at his feet. Your expression quickly drops to a glare and you pull the sheet up over you.

"What is _that_ doing here?"

Poe ignores you, pointing at BB-8 and then at you. "Okay, this time you be _sure_ she stays here. You have my permission to tase her but only if _absolutely_ necessary."

Then he leaves over your muffled sound of protest and the droid’s affirmative beeping. Dubiously, you start to put one foot on the floor. BB-8 rolls towards you, red light flashing and a small port opens on its side. An electric hum fills the air and you jerk your foot back onto the bed.

Glaring, you wrap the sheet tighter around you. "I used to like you, you know."

The droid whirs and beeps, rolling back slightly.

"I know I got you in trouble. But I didn’t figure you for one to hold a grudge."

The droid makes another noise and you grunt in response, taking the moment to look around the room. It still looked like a tornado hit it. Luckily, you spy one of Poe’s shirts at the end of the bed and pull it on without too much issue. Then you sit cross-legged and stare at the droid in front of you.

"I’d like to get some water from the sink. Can I move across the room without you shocking me?"

BB-8 makes a low whistle but moves to place itself between you and the door, leaving room for you to cross to the sink. Cautiously, you set your feet on the floor and make your way over. Glass of water in hand, you turn to the table stacked with data pads and sink into the chair next to it. You pull the closest one, with schematics of an A-Wing highlighted, and review some of the notes Poe has made. They seem to be for a new fuel conduit system, but he’s using a systems diagram you’ve never seen. You pull your feet up into the chair and get lost in the maze of notations and formula.

It’s probably a half hour or so later when the door opens again. You look up and see the back of Poe’s head. Watch his shoulders slump as he takes in the sight of the empty bed. Hear his muttered, "Damn."

"Not a fun call?" You ask and suppress a giggle when he spins around and sees you. Then his face breaks into a huge grin.

"It was fine."

"Mhmm," you hum distractedly then hold up the data pad. "Where did you get the hexalonginal 4 computations?"

His brows draw together and he looks over the pile of units on his desk, then the one you’re holding. "Of all the things here, that’s the one you picked?"

You blush a little, "Well, a lot of them were marked private." Then you shake the one you’re holding, "But seriously, I’ve never seen anyone use this formula - it gets you to the same results which is a whole other conversation - but I don’t know where-"

His lips cut you off. Then his hands gently pry the data pad from your hands and drop it onto the desk. "I have absolutely no interest in talking about hexalonginal computations right now, do you?"

You shake your head and thread your fingers through his hair, not resisting when he pulls you to your feet and walks you across the room. In fact, when he moves to settle you onto the bed, you make sure he comes right along with you.

The noise is low pitched, a slight _whirr_ echoing in the room, and you freeze. "Is BB-8 still in here?"

Poe lifts his head from your neck and raises an eyebrow. "Probably. Why?"

You glance over his shoulder and see the small droid settled in a corner. You give it a dubious look. "Is it watching us?"

"He’s a droid," Poe points out. "Does it matter?"

You sit up on your elbows, forcing him to kneel next to you. "I don’t trust it not to do something while we’re…" You trail off.

"While we’re…?" Poe prompts and you blush. He grins and runs a finger down your chest, stopping at the first button of the shirt. "Tell me. Use your words."

You grumble and cross your arms, batting his hands away. "Your droid doesn’t like me." Poe laughs and manages to sneak one hand in and a button goes loose. You try to fend him off but within a few seconds he has the shirt gaping open and his eyes are roving your bare skin.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispers.

"Poe, _please_."

"BB-8, power down" Poe calls out and you don’t notice whether the droid does or not because Poe’s lips are on your skin and it’s a long time before you can spare a thought for anything but this man.

_Six Months Later…_

- _All hands all hands, pilots to your ships. Prepare for launch-_

You turn your head as the sirens blare, looking out the bay doors for signs of incoming fighters. The star field beyond is clear, the blue light ringing the force field blurring the edges.

"You heard them," you shout to the team around you. "Mechs to your stations, I want Red 9 up and flight ready in five minutes."

Your team scatters and you glance around the landing bay, looking for problem areas. Commander Jaxon gives you a nod as he heads for Red One and you nod back, eyes scanning behind him at the R4 unit trailing him and the BB unit behind that. There’s a stack of crates next to the A-Wing that need to be moved quickly for the ship to get out. You bark orders at a nearby cargo droid and it scurries forward to begin the move as the A-Wing’s pilot settles into the cockpit.

You freeze. Then slowly scan back the other way. Something wasn’t right. What had-

BB-8 zips towards you, doing a small circle and you squat down and give him a soft tap. "Hey what are you doing here? You should be with-"

A pair of familiar boots enter your peripheral and you turn, unable to hide a smile when you see the man they’re attached to. "What are _you_ doing here?" You ask as you stand up. "Get moving."

He leans down and nuzzles your nose with his. "I wanted to see you."

You press against his chest, pushing him away. "Poe we are under _attack_."

Grinning, he dips his head to kiss you. "It’s a training exercise," he whispers conspiratorially.

You pause and look up at him, "Oh really?" He nods and kisses you again and you melt against him. When he lets you go you shake your head, "Well, if it is we are _failing_ it. I need to get my squad up."

He laughs and taps you lightly under the chin, "Tell them to watch their backs, I’ll be gunning for them."

"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow, "Playing the baddie are we?"

His voice drops an octave, "Your Resistance will perish."

You snort a short laugh and give his shoulder a small push. "Go on then, go get your ass kicked Imperial scum."

He winks and salutes you with a broad grin. "Yes ma’am." Then turns on one heel and starts running to the corridor that will take him to the bay housing Black Squadron.

"BB-8!" You call after them and the little droid turns it’s top unit back to you, not stopping. "Try to keep him out of trouble would you?" The droid flashes its lights at you and then they’re both gone.

Being in love with Poe Dameron wasn’t easy. As the battles against the First Order drag on he’s gone more and more. Always in danger of one sort of another. You watch the empty door for a second longer, stroking your thumb across the silver ring he had given you just a few weeks ago. Laying side by side when he had asked you to be his forever. Smiling at the memory, you turn back to the ships in your care.

"Red 9 are you ready?" You call out and the droid at your feet relays the message. When the affirmative comes back you scroll through your data pad, changing Red 9’s status to active. A small green light goes on in the bay and you hear the engines fire up.

There is a moment, when all ships are gone, that the bay goes silent - the only movement seeming to be from the slowly strobing orange lights on the wall. You take the moment to switch some units to training mode, sending false information to data pads. As you look out the bay doors you can see the edge of the planet far below, as well as another squadron leaving to join Red Team. For just a moment you think you see his ship - the familiar orange stripe and slightly dented starboard wing. Then it’s gone, banking vertical to join the fight - wherever it may be.

The moment passes. "Alright," you yell and the mechs begin to move as one, getting the bays ready for repairs and replacements. Droids zip by around your feet but you ignore them, knowing they’ll avoid you. You hear the tower clear an X-Wing from Talon squad to land. Your radio isn’t on the ops channel so you have no idea how the training exercise is going, just hear the occasional ship asking permission to land. At one point, you see an X-Wing pass through the field of vision, followed by two more in a tight formation. It goes by too quickly to see what squad it’s from.

You listen for Red Squad on the radio traffic, dispatching teams to run diagnostics on every ship as it comes in. Their screens will show damage, even if not real, and each team will give you a brief-out at the end of the day on the hypothetical repairs needed.

When most of the squad is back you relax, checking your notes on the data pad. Two pilots walk past you, grumbling to themselves. "Not fair to put us up against Commander Dameron," one says and the other nods. "Did he take you down too?"

You hide your grin as they walk away until a familiar voice crackles along the radio channel.

- _Raddus Tower this is Darth Poe-patine, requesting a flyby_.-

Snorting to yourself at the callsign, you walk over to the bay doors, just to the edge of the force field. If you know Poe he’ll be…. Yep, right there, hovering just off the aft engines of the star cruiser.

- _Request denied Black Leader, please place yourself in a landing pattern_.-

Shaking your head you watch as he lines his X-Wing up. If the _Raddus_ tower hadn’t learned by now … A moment passes and it’s clear that your beloved is having an argument with BB-8 who is a good droid doing his best but also no match for his pilot. Then the engines go bright and the X-Wing is rocketing towards you. You laugh, blowing a kiss as the ship goes past the bay doors. When he reaches the tower he circles it once before placing himself into a landing pattern.

Loving Poe Dameron wasn’t easy. But it was also, at times, absolutely wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this Poe / Reader fic you may also enjoy my other Poe fics
> 
> Alabanza : Poe x Reader  
> In our own image... : Poe x OFC


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